


Sins of the Father

by BlackMajjicDuchess, DreamingDragon



Category: Naruto
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Choices, Co-Written, Coping, Dark, Death, Delusions, Depression, Descent into Madness, Destruction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Frenemies, Friendship, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Heartache, Heavy Angst, Hero Worship, Honor, Icha Icha Paradise, Intoxication, Loss, Loss of Innocence, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, No Spoilers, POV Alternating, Prodigies, Protectiveness, Rules, Self-Destruction, Suicide, Teamwork, Tragedy, True Love, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackMajjicDuchess/pseuds/BlackMajjicDuchess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingDragon/pseuds/DreamingDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They... try. They try and try and try but their family stays broken. The glass is shattered and the glue is gone. </p>
<p>All the years between the death of Kakashi’s mother and Sakumo’s tragic death, focusing on the bond between father and son. So many feels that the authors were in tears. The ugly, soggy kind, not the delicate melodramatic actor tears. </p>
<p>Suggested soundtrack included.<br/>Artwork by DreamingDragon</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sins of the Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story begins on next page! :D


	2. Letters from the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "Letters from the Sky"  
> Civil Twilight
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bN4AgsNIYM

He was fidgeting again. Despite a generally calm, composed demeanor, for some reason Sakumo had never gained control of his restless legs. As he sat, elbows upon knees on a bench outside the Hokage’s office, his right heel jumped up and down, poised over anchored toes. The motion made his arm quake in cooperation, which in turn caused the message in his hand to tremble with the flutter of paper. It was a fairly benign message, but as with most of the Hokage’s careful phrases, it also carried equal potential to allude to horrific news. Generally, messages of that nature were harmless. But there was always a  _chance_ …

Sakumo smiled ruefully. He supposed the Hokage might find his only entertainment that way. To be as vague as possible, no matter the message, causing just enough fear and respect in his subordinates. Sakumo snapped open the scrap of paper for the umpteenth time, read the by-now-memorized line of words for lack of anything better to do as he awaited admittance to the Hokage’s office.  _Sakumo, meet me in my office as soon as you are able. Sarutobi Hiruzen, Sandaime Hokage._ Having read it for the umpteen-and-first time, he folded it again. His foot started jumping again a moment later.

 _Come on, come on,_ he silently urged. He was needed at home, but one did not simply ignore a summons from Sandaime. His glance jumped incessantly between the door to the office, the paper in his hands, and the clock on the wall.

Sakumo possessed glacial patience, but even that was waning. His wife was out on a mission, and though his son was sleeping with all of the naptime dedication that only a four-year-old ninja’s get  _could_ , that could change at any moment. Then, he surmised with a smile, Kakashi would have the appetite that only a four-year-old ninja’s get could have. Parenting had been Sakumo’s most difficult--if enjoyable--mission yet.  _Clearly_ meant to be tackled in teams. Sometimes he wished that there were more than just the two of them; young Kakashi was a handful and a half. That coaxed another smile from his lips. The boy was remarkably intelligent, and destined to make them proud. Sakumo felt honored to be his father.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the door to the Hokage’s office creaked open and someone he didn’t  _quite_  recognize waved at him, expression stoic. “Hatake Sakumo?” he asked. Sakumo graced him with a nod and waved with the paper in his hand. “The Hokage will see you now.”

 _At last,_ he thought with a heavy sigh, standing. He followed the young man inside, stretching stiff, unused muscles as he went. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the man shut the door behind him, and the entire scene within registered with the ominous yet quiet  _boom_  of a closing portal. He blinked to see it, feeling suffocated, trapped; the Hokage, looking out the window upon the village, while two of Natsuki’s three genin held each other. One was weeping, and the other looked ten shades of pale and frightened. It was then that he realized that he  _had_ seen the other man before. He was a psychological examiner from the medical corps.

_Psychological examiner?_

The whole situation shrieked of tragedy; his feet planted involuntarily, though he wanted to flee the scene, to avoid hearing the unvoiced news that was surely imminent.  _Run!_ His thoughts cried. If he left, would he never have to know?

He swallowed, stubbornly denying the thought that screamed through his mind.  _Something is wrong with Natsuki._

“Sakumo,” Sarutobi intoned, not turning from the window. “You’re an exceptionally sharp Shinobi. One of our finest. I’m sure, by now, you’ve guessed why you’re here.” He turned to look at Sakumo over one shoulder then, his face a carefully controlled mask of sympathy.

_She’s dead. She’s dead, oh gods, she’s dead..._

“Hatake Natsuki’s team encountered a squad of enemy ninja that was unexpected, elevating their mission from a C rank to an A rank. By the report of these two genin, their comrade fell in battle and their jounin leader was taken captive before they could escape. Their numbers were overwhelming. It is doubtful that she survived.” He hesitated, let the news sink in a moment. “I’m sorry, Sakumo.”

Numbness. Silence, too, but for the quiet weeping of the genin girl.

There was a full spectrum of feelings that assaulted him then—rage, pain, grief, fear, denial, hot and burning, one right after the other—but only one did he allow to rest upon his features:  _acceptance_. Hatake Sakumo was a shinobi of the Leaf. Hatake Natsuki was the same. They were ninja; death was an occupational hazard, and emotions were not a luxury that they were afforded. He glanced at the two genin. The boy’s eyes gazed up at him, filled with hurt and fear and apology.  _I’m sorry I couldn’t save her_ , he seemed to say.

Sakumo couldn’t even recall the kid’s name, but he had to know. The question would haunt him forever if he did not ask it now. “Why didn’t you go back for her?” he asked the boy. Dark eyes popped in disbelief, horrified at having been asked in the first place.

“Sakumo,” the Hokage warned. Sakumo heard the shift of fabric as Sarutobi fully faced him. “He’s only a boy. They were outnumbered. They are not to be blamed.”

He ignored the Hokage’s hint, veiled warning, his eyes never leaving the boy’s. “He’s a shinobi,” Sakumo corrected, eyes hardening. “And his comrades were in trouble. There was no one else that could have saved them except  _you._ ” His gaze and his voice intensified, boring into the poor kid’s eyes. “ _Why didn’t you go back?_ ”

The boy’s eyes softened in shame, and he looked away from the power of Sakumo’s insult. He muttered something unintelligible, shifting the weeping bundle of girl in his arms.

Sakumo hadn’t heard the boy’s admission, so he took a step toward him. “Come again?” he prodded.

“Sakumo!” Sarutobi warned again. “Calm yourself!”

The girl’s shoulders hitched in a steep sob, and the genin boy’s eyes sharpened and pinned his own with naught but ice. “We had a mission to complete,” he told him, voice shaking with nerves. “Natsuki-sensei said the m-mission always came f-first.”

Sakumo’s shoulders sagged, defeated. She  _would_  say something like that, his Natsuki. Natsuki had always lived precisely. By the book. She’d been the best student in his class; it was part of why he’d admired her in the first place. Her sense of duty and strong moral compass resonated strongly with his own, even if they did see things differently much of the time. She had been trying doggedly to raise a generation of shinobi that followed the standards set by its superiors, and that meant following the rules. She had often chastised Sakumo himself for letting his emotions cloud his judgment.

He found it strangely ironic that he could not bring himself to show any emotion now during such a heavy moment. He stared at the scrawny genin who had failed to rescue his wife, eyes darting to the barely contained fury on the face of the Third. Suddenly, he was ashamed at having harangued a kid, all but laying blame on the shoulders of a child. It might have been Kakashi. As a father, he’d be furious if someone else had done the same. He bowed his head. “Your sensei was a wise Shinobi,” he murmured to the pair of genin, finding his way to the door. No one moved to stop him.

He remembered nothing from the journey home. The colors of the village blurred by in a succession of still frames. Memories dredged up and rehashed and both comforted and inflamed him at once. Before he knew it, he was in front of his own door. A much larger problem awaited him on the other side.

He wasn’t ready to be a father alone. He’d hardly been ready to be a father in the first place, and that was when Natsuki’s serenely happy presence was available to encourage and delight him as he blundered along the path of parenthood. Now what? He wasn’t quite sure how to be a dad, but he damned sure didn’t know how to be a mom. One forearm pressed to the door, and his suddenly heavy head crashed into firm flesh.  _Too much_. It was all just  _too damned much_  to accept in one day.

That was when the emotions finally ruptured. It started as a cold knot in his chest, an icy emptiness where his heart was located. He realized he’d be sleeping alone tonight, and the meaning of that vacancy had taken on a more sinister cast. It wasn’t just that she was away, now... she was well and truly  _gone_. Just like that, a perfect soul rubbed from existence. _It’s not fair_. She was the source of his strength, his balancing half, the soft yet unyielding word that changed his mind when he was wrong, the gentle hug when the world was too cruel.

Well, it was too cruel  _right now_ , and growing darker by the minute. Tears tracked down his face as he suddenly remembered that innocent, bright-eyed Kakashi awaited within. When he’d left home that day, he’d left behind a happy, loved little boy enjoying naïve dreams of grandeur, a glorious nap. How was he supposed to go in there now and tell him his mother was dead, that his blundering father was the only parent now? How was he supposed to tell Kakashi that he now endured a world of burned eggs and spoiled milk, of laundered colors that bled together and an abandoned sense of punctuality?

Was there any way to preserve his childhood? At four years old, Kakashi already showed wisdom and talent years beyond. It seemed the boy was singularly determined to skip being a kid altogether and transcend straight into adulthood. It was Kakashi’s ultimate dream to be a ninja. Hearing that his mother had died on a mission would devastate him. If Sakumo told his son that his mother died in a brutal skirmish with enemy ninja, how would he take it? Would he even consider being a shinobi anymore?

 _I can’t tell him that,_  Sakumo realized.  _It’ll kill him._

He began formulating another plan, even as he struggled to compose himself. There would be time enough to mourn his wife later. For now, there was a little boy in there who had recently, unknowingly, lost his mother. He needed to be strong for Kakashi. And so, he rubbed the wetness from his eyes, willed them to lose their redness. He straightened his clothes, ran a hand through untamed white hair, then shook his head in wry amusement. He’d never been able to control his unruly hair; There was no reason he should try to straighten it now.

 _I like the way it looks when it’s wild,_ Natsuki’s voice purred from memory, delicate fingers ruffling his hair into an even more haphazard mess, stabbing a new hole in his heart.

He took several calming deep breaths, something he had learned long past from one of the medical corps psychologists—though a different one from the one he had seen today—steeled his nerves, and pushed open the front door.

He went straight to Kakashi’s room. His resolve was hard-won, and he wasn’t about to let it waver before he had had a chance to speak with his son. To his dismay—and surprise—Kakashi wasn’t in his room. He  _tried_ not to be too alarmed; after all, a four-year-old child ninja with Kakashi’s natural curiosity—and one that had, unfortunately, inherited his father’s restlessness—was a mobile force hard pressed to sit still. Sakumo was still in the midst of searching, his thoughts directed on the conversation he was supposed to have with a four year old about his mother’s death, when Kakashi’s voice yanked him from his bewilderment.

“Dad! I’m right here!” he called.

Sakumo’s eyes snapped toward the kitchen. His son was partially concealed by the interference of the wall between the den and the kitchen. He hadn’t thought to check there—reason number hundred and fourteen why he shouldn’t be doing the parenting thing on his own. Hadn’t he  _guessed_ that Kakashi would want a battalion’s portion of food the moment he woke up? He stopped in the doorway, noting with subdued amusement that Kakashi was, indeed, just like his father in this respect, too. He’d finished off an entire box of cereal.

The smile fled quickly, though. Kakashi was already growing up way too fast. Here he was, four years old, and already he dressed and fed himself. Kakashi regarded his father with cool impassiveness, eating slowly and waiting for him to speak. Then he pushed his bowl away, settled dexterous fingers upon the tabletop, and waited without another word.

If Sakumo had not been his father, he might have found it unsettling. The eyes that looked out from the young boy’s face were decades old at least. Sakumo pulled a chair and slid onto the seat across from his son. “Kakashi,” he began, suddenly at a loss for words. He realized that he hadn’t quite come up with how to tell him this yet.

Kakashi seemed to sense it. “It will probably be better if you just say it, Dad.”

He dumped his cheek into his palm and stared at the boy. He sighed, enjoying the last moment of his son believing he had two parents. Kakashi definitely needed his mother. Sakumo was an oaf when it came to domestic pursuits. “We’re on our own, Kashi,” he informed gently. “Your mother is gone.”

His eyes lowered, peered at his hands upon the table, but Kakashi said nothing.

The silence stretched until Sakumo could no longer bear it. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at this,” he confessed. “Your mother was a better cook than I am. I don’t know what your favorite book is or what time you’re supposed to be in bed. I’ll still have to take missions, and there won’t be anyone here to take care of you. I don’t want you to grow up too fast, Kashi, but… the more you can learn, the better.” His chin lifted from his hand. “Does any of this make any sense to you?”

“How did she die?” he asked, his voice soft.

Sakumo’s words died on his lips. Was that all Kakashi had gleaned from his monologue? A death in need of cause? It was the one answer he didn’t have for his son. Not one that he was willing to share, anyway. He realized, too, that he hadn’t even said ‘dead,’ but ‘gone’. Kakashi had perceived the truth without prompting. “She was sick,” he blurted finally. A natural cause, a quiet cause, one that kept her dignity intact.

Dark eyes captured his own, acutely suspicious. “She didn’t  _look_  sick.”

The lies came easier, now that his mind was made up. “It was something internal. They didn’t catch it right away, and by the time they did it was too late. I’m told there was no pain. She died in her sleep.” Lies stacked upon lies, sweeter upon his lips than the truth. It would have been nice if she  _had_  died in her sleep, instead of killed in cold blood, surrounded by strangers, abandoned by friends.

Silence again. “I’ll do my best, Kakashi, to be the best father that I can be.”

Kakashi nodded, slid off the chair, and disappeared from the kitchen.

The tears slid back into place the moment Kakashi’s back was turned.  _Natsuki_ , he thought helplessly, wishing that there was  _anything_ — _anything at all_ —that he could do to bring her back.  _This is going to be so godsawful hard._ He swiped a picture off of the mantle and held it in his hands, peering down into the lively eyes of his wife. They were deep, dark pools of chocolate… just warm enough to keep his soul alive, deep enough to hide secrets just beneath the surface for him to slowly uncover as they grew old together.

He hugged the frame to his chest and made the numb walk to his own room.  _His own._  It was a jarring thought. Just a few hours ago this was  _their_  room, a chamber where they’d shared their most intimate thoughts, dreams, and fears. It was in  _this room_  that they first spoke of wanting children.  _This room_  where Kakashi had been conceived. _This room_  where she confessed to him that she was pregnant, stars in her eyes.  _This room_  where they began to dream of all of the things Kakashi would be as he grew. Where she delighted in his growth and his personality. Where they joked about the silly things he did as a baby. Where she nipped his chin and whispered shyly,  _“I think I’d like another one.”_

It was an empty room now, haunted by the ghost of her perfume and the broken promise that she’d be back: there, a shirt left where it wasn’t supposed to be; there, the book she’d been reading that she’d forgotten to take with her; and there, the clothes she had asked him to take to the laundry for her so she could do them when she got back.

His back sagged against the door. Quiet. Too quiet. The absence of sound in the room was almost deafening.  _Hand me that tape, will you?_ His mind’s eye conjured the image of his delicate yet tough-as-nails kunoichi princess, readying herself for a mission with her beloved genin.  _I can’t wait until Kakashi is a genin,_  she mused as she taped up her wrists with an adoring smile.  _He’s going to be more amazing than both of us, you know. Put together._

 _Yes, I know, love,_ he thought, wanting to hold her tight and never let go. Had he known she might have died on a C rank mission, he might have done exactly that. Limbs heavy, he laid himself upon the bed. His heart was tearing itself in multiple directions, wanting to burst and implode at the same time for the loss it had suffered. With a muted  _oomph_ , he crashed his face into her pillow (not his). He breathed deeply, wanting to pretend she wasn’t gone. In her pillow, he detected hints of honeysuckle and jasmine, her shampoo, her perfume… all of the scents that he had, until very recently, taken for granted.

All at once, the irreparable nature of the situation nailed home.  _She’s gone,_  he realized with agony. His heart panged of loneliness, arms and legs curled inward with pain. His brain felt nothing but a numbed fuzziness, unable to comprehend what had just befallen the Hatake family.

Deep breath in, shards of glass and steel shrapnel.

Exhale, poison and despair.

 _I can’t do this without you,_ he mourned.

 


	3. Lonesome Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "Lonesome Tears"  
> Beck
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrTl5iUF6FY

Kakashi walked through the hallway towards his bedroom. His body was slow and heavy, the burden of the news he’d just heard weighing him down. His father’s words cut througlh him like a knife, and his blood had run from the invisible wound, leaving him cold and numb.

His mother was gone. 

He understood what his father meant. _Gone_ was a word adults used to sugar-coat bad news to children. But in a world such as theirs, people didn't just get lost or disappear. They _died_. His mother had _died_.

He stopped in the threshold to his room. He wasn't sure what to do. Should he cry? Should he scream and shout and lament his mother's death? He felt like he _should_ , but he was a young shinobi, a child warrior in the making. It went against every fibre of his being to allow it. In his confusion, Kakashi clung to the shinobi doctrine and held back his emotions. It was the only thing that made sense at that moment. To allow himself to grieve the way a normal child would seemed alike to torture.

Kakashi was more mature than most--if not all--children his age. Like a miniature adult, he was old beyond his years. His mind worked differently. While most children would cry and fail to understand what had happened, Kakashi understood all too clearly.

The woman who cared and protected him was gone forever. He would never see her face or hear her laughter again. He would never enjoy her singing or feel her ruffle his hair. The one person in the world that he could depend on and trust would never hold him again, never kiss his forehead, never read him a bedtime story.

Kakashi stood there, desperately trying to control the storm of emotions that threatened to pour forth and crush him. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something to focus on that might help keep him grounded. But everything there held a memory of his mother and all his searching did was fuel his grief. So he closed his eyes and breathed in a shaky breath. The fight against his emotions was harder than he thought it would be. Finally, he opened his eyes, then made his way to his bed and threw himself upon it. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. There were no memories hidden there, just unfeeling, pale wooden slats which he counted, taking his mind off the pain in his heart.

He had counted only fifteen slats when he lost the battle and the first sob escaped his tight lips. Kakashi turned onto his stomach, buried his head in his pillow, and wept. He found himself dragged to place no child should ever know. It was a dark place where his tiny soul was ravaged by a cold torrent of emotion and pain so consuming it left him feeling hollow. He smothered the sobs that racked his small frame and muffled the noise of misery. As his tears soaked into the pillow, his small hands tightened into little balled fists that twisted the material of the bed covers.

He called out for his mother, over and over, knowing that she would never answer. He begged her not to be dead, pleaded for her to come back. His words fell into a hoarse whisper as he told her he loved her. Then he screamed into the pillow and implored her to come rescue him from his torment. But she never would. That thought left him sobbing as he curled into a ball and hugged himself.

An awful moan sounded in his throat as he thought back to the morning before. It was the last time he had seen his mother and he found himself wishing to remember every detail about their final interaction.

He ate his breakfast as his mother readied herself for a new mission, checking her kit and supplies. Her routine never changed, though Kakashi had watched her go through the same motions a hundred times or more. She never forgot a single item nor changed what she carried. Her provisions were meticulously laid out, counted, and packed. Once she was satisfied that her kit was ready, she then washed the dishes and tidied the house. It was part of her usual pre-mission routine, making sure the house was in some state of order before she left.

It was a perfectly normal morning, the same as any other--just one of the reasons why Kakashi could not understand what had gone wrong. There had been no discernible cause for concern that he could remember. His mother had seemed as happy as she always was. No trace of illness had shown on her face. She had not winced nor paled in discomfort and neither had she mentioned feeling unwell. In fact, she had been positively radiant, flushed with the excitement that always blossomed upon her face when she was about to go on a mission.

The memory left Kakashi confused. The analytical part of his mind took over and pushed his grief momentarily aside. If she died of illness as his father said, surely he would have seen some sign of it? Not that he doubted his father's words, but even to his young mind, something seemed wrong. Perhaps it was just because it would have made more sense to him if she had died on a mission. Her death would have had a purpose of some kind. Death by illness seemed so cruel to a woman like his mother.

A crash disturbed his thoughts. Kakashi wiped his eyes and sat up on the edge of his bed. He listened intently while his hands twitched, and he rubbed his thumbs along the insides of his fingers. It was a nervous habit he had developed, a mindless, comfort-inducing repetitive movement. He heard it again, so he slipped from the bed and cautiously made his way into the hallway. He heard his father's voice from the kitchen. It sounded strange. It took Kakashi a moment to realise it was because his father was crying.

Kakashi silently made his way through the hallway and hid in a nook just outside the kitchen. He peered through the crack in the kitchen door and saw his father sitting at the table. His father held an old framed photograph of Kakashi's mother. His fingers brushed over the captured image as his entire body shook with grief.

“I don't know what to do, Natsuki. I don't know what to do. I can't do this without you. Why? _Why_ did you die?”

Hot tears welled up in Kakashi's eyes as he watched his father break down. He held a hand over his mouth as his father continued to weep. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. His father was a strong, capable man, on whose face Kakashi had rarely seen a flicker of emotion. Kakashi was accustomed to living with a formidable man of great fortitude. He moulded his own shinobi code on that greatness. And yet, as he watched his father break down, Kakashi realized that his father was just a man. Just as his mother had been just a woman. Normal humans, with frail bodies and fragile emotions.

This realization shook Kakashi. He had always believed his family to be more than the average. Greater, in strength and integrity. To Kakashi, the Hatake name was legendary and elite in status. They were stronger, faster, _better_. Yet as his father cried, it struck Kakashi that they were not. They were simple humans. The _same_ as all others.

“And what of our son? What can I possibly do for him? He is so young...I was never able to compete with you for his love.” His father continued to weep, unaware that Kakashi looked on. “What am I to do with the child? Gods help us!”

Kakashi suppressed a sob and went to turn away when his father suddenly stood. His chair fell to the floor as he threw the photograph across the room with such force the frame splintered and glass shattered. Kakashi cringed against the cold wall behind him and threw his hands over his ears as his father roared. He would rather melt through the cool partition than bear witness to whatever came next. But Kakashi found himself rooted to the spot, unable to look away, as his father began to tear the kitchen to pieces. He watched with horror as his father cleared surfaces with sweeps of his arms. He flinched when his father yelled and smashed crockery and glasses against the walls. He folded in on himself and cried out when his father bellowed and hurled the chair against the kitchen door. It terrified him.

But it took his father screaming his mother's name to make him move. He fled back to his room with angry tears in his eyes. He stood again in the doorway, panting heavily as he listened to his father’s continued rage. His eyes darted about the room in a panic, and suddenly he wanted to copy his father’s actions. His room, so childish to his eyes now, was filled with memories of the one he had lost. He wanted to destroy everything, rid himself of anything that reminded him of his mother. 

The first thing he saw was a small wooden figure of a man that his mother brought back from a mission the year before. He grabbed it, simultaneously wanting to break it and keep it, and cried out as he wound up throwing it against the wall. It struck the edge of the window and toppled outside. Without hesitation, Kakashi searched for something else to throw. His eyes fell upon a little painted figure of a samurai peeking out from under his bed. It looked so stupid there, staring up at him with its blank eyes, and he just wanted to rip its arms and legs off. Instead, he hurled it at the bedroom door where it bounced off the mirror and disappeared behind a mound of clothes. 

His body trembled as he reached out to grab something else to launch, but his fingers tightened over something light and soft. He hesitated long enough to identify what he held.

In his hand was a simple tubular piece of black material. It was something that his mother had made for him, stitched from a square of conforming fabric that she once used as a headscarf. He held it as one would something precious, rubbing it gently between his fingers. She’d made it for him after he complained that the rain soaked his hair and chilled his scalp. The cloth jogged a memory, and he stared at it as his mother's voice echoed in his mind.

“ _Here, this will keep your head warm.” She tugged the fabric over his head like a hood and tweaked his cheek. Kakashi smiled up at her brightly as he pulled it down over his eyes._ “ _Ahh, Kashi. That smile of yours would light up even the darkest of places. You show that smile to the world and you will never be alone.”_

Kakashi pulled the material over his head to rest around his neck like a tight fitting scarf. He walked over to stare at himself in the mirror hanging behind the door. The face reflected back would have broken his mother's heart to see. His eyes were red and swollen, his nose and cheeks ruddy from crying. He suddenly wanted to smile, to see that which gave his mother so much joy. But all that he could manage was a crooked false grin that didn't reach or even warm his eyes. It was a smile that darkened the memory of his mother's joy. He frowned as he pulled the material from his neck and stretched it over the lower half of his face.

_You show that smile to the world and you will never be alone._

But he _wanted_ to be alone. If losing someone always hurt this badly, then he would rather be alone in this world. That cloth suddenly took on a new purpose. As he looked at his reflection, it became a mask, a sinister barrier that hid his smile. Perhaps he could use it to stop people from getting too close to him. He tried smiling, but through the dark colour of the material, not even the movement of his mouth could be seen. He was pleased with the impression. His hair hung limply around his face, and with the mask, all that could be seen were his eyes. They did not shine as they once had, but were filled with a noticeable sadness that, combined with the lazy droop of his eyelids, made him appear cold and unfeeling. It was perfect. He was sure no one would ever want to get close to him now, and that suited him fine.

The noise from the kitchen gradually died down and soon the house was eerily quiet. The silence unnerved Kakashi, for it meant that his father had finally broken. This in turn broke something deep inside Kakashi and right then all he wanted to do was disappear. He rushed towards his bed, jumped on it lightly, then launched himself through the open window.

He ran for the trees, wishing only to make it to his special place and spend what remained of the day in solitude. He nimbly climbed his favourite tree and disappeared into the canopy above. He came to rest on the high branch that had become his most cherished place in all of Konoha. He could see the entire village from its vantage point, and had spent many a day just sitting there, dreaming long hours away. Usually, they were dreams of grandeur, of gaining respectful recognition in the village he loved, a future filled with promise. But as he hugged his legs and looked over the village, he did not daydream or fantasize.

He thought about his _real_ future, the one without his mother, the one in which he must prove to everyone that he didn’t need anyone to survive. It was destined to be a harsh and lonely future, one forged in dark despair and bleak reality. He wished to honour his mother’s memory by becoming a hardened shinobi of great strength and unfathomable integrity, one who would leave all others wanting.

Kakashi wanted to be that which felt nothing; a being devoid of all useless emotion.

With his mind in turmoil over everything he had heard and seen that day, Kakashi began to whisper the shinobi code to clamp down his raging emotions.

“A shinobi must never show their tears...a shinobi must never show any weakness...a shinobi should be prepared...”

He clung to the words, pressed them into his mind and attempted to forge himself an iron will with the remains of his burning heart. Of course, it still hurt. The pain still felt as if it was eating him from the inside out. But _never again_ would he succumb to his emotions. He would become the great and powerful shinobi his mother always said he could be. He would prove himself to be as capable as his mother and as powerful as his father. He would become a force to be reckoned with and take the name Hatake to new and dizzying heights. He would need _no one_ to achieve this. If he had no one, he could lose no one.

But as he continued to whisper the code, Kakashi wept. With every tear that fell to dampen the material of his mask, he shed his childhood and buried the pain of his mother's death. He had already surpassed his father, though he did not know it.

Sounds from the village below filled the air, but he swore he heard his mother's sweet laughter rise up to meet his ears. With the bitter knowledge that he was mistaken and would never hear that lovely sound again, Kakashi felt his little heart harden to stone within his chest.


	4. I Lived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "I Lived"  
> One Republic
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KINfQbfZwik

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Sakumo asked him dubiously.

“No, Dad, it’s fine,” Kakashi replied, his voice quiet.

Sakumo watched his son push food around on his plate and wondered when he had become a liar. Had it been before or after Natsuki had died? The short distance between them—short enough that he could kick Kakashi’s shins from beneath the table, if he wanted—may as well have been miles. As time passed, the rift between them only seemed to grow, no matter how hard Sakumo tried to bridge it. He did his best to replace Natsuki even though he said that he wouldn’t, and for some time now had been failing miserably at it. His eyes fell upon the—what had he tried to cook? Ginger chicken? Peanut chicken? Garlic chicken? He shook himself, giving up trying to identify the sad excuse for dinner. It was chicken, anyway. Kakashi had pushed most of it aside, but it was easy to see why. The pieces were blackened. Burned. The house was permeated with the stink of it.

Sakumo heaved a great sigh and decided that he needed to put forth a little more effort, even if he was already flailing like a wounded fish. He was Kakashi’s only parent, after all. “Kakashi,” he began, his tone stern as he put down his chopsticks. “I don’t want you to ever lie to me.”

A half hearted shrug. “I’m not lying, Dad,” he lied again.

“That mask of yours won’t help you hide from me,” he replied, one eyebrow raised. “I’m an abysmal cook. I know it. You know it.  Look at it. It’s burnt.” Kakashi’s chopsticks clinked gently against his plate as he, too, set them down. He peered down at his food as if seeing it for the first time, eyes widening only slightly.

They sat that way for a while, Kakashi staring at his barely touched food, Sakumo staring at Kakashi. “You’re right,” Kakashi muttered finally. “It’s uneatable, and I lied about it.”

“Inedible,” he corrected, “and why?” Sakumo asked, knowing the answer but wanting him to voice it.

Kakashi shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sakumo nodded once. “Very well. Nonetheless, lying is unacceptable. I want you to go to your room and meditate on this. Unless you’d rather talk about it…?” he trailed off hopefully.

There was a scuff as Kakashi’s chair pushed back and he hopped down without a word, leaving his plate right where it was. “Kakashi,” he warned, elbows falling to the table as he drew himself up. Kakashi stopped, flat expression ramming into his own—dead, miserable eyes meeting guttering fires. “Your plate,” he commanded, narrowing his eyes.

Kakashi’s glower darkened as he gathered his plate and chopsticks. His footsteps were silent—stealthy, Sakumo noted with muted pride—as he stalked his way into the kitchen. Silence, nothing... until the plate _crashed_ into the sink. It would be a wonder if the dish survived its abuse. Sakumo nearly said somewhat more, but he understood the need for the outburst. Kakashi was still hurting in a deep and untouchable way. Try as he might, Sakumo was failing as a father just as miserably as he was failing as a mother no matter what he did.

Leaded feet, sagging shoulders, and a heavy sigh… and then Kakashi was in his room, leaving Sakumo at the dinner table alone.

It pained Sakumo to discipline his son. Kakashi, for all his apparent darkness, was the brightest point in his world. As he turned his attention back to his own food, his appetite withered. Tired eyes fell upon the abomination in front of him. “I really am an awful cook,” he murmured aloud. There was no one there to tell him, otherwise, though.

_Oh, you’re not_ that _bad. You just need practice!_

A lump formed in his throat to remember her voice. And her bright, fleeting smile as she tried to reassure him that he was better than he knew he was. Her quick kiss and the expert way she slipped between him and the quickly immolating meal on the stove. She’d save him from his bad cooking, doctor it up with expertly flicked spices and the perfect height of flame, and then she’d give him all the credit for her work.

He wished he hadn’t sent Kakashi to bed, for he was suddenly soul-crushingly lonely. Without another word, he picked up his own plate. Then, he scraped the food into the trash, and placed it on top of Kakashi’s—which still had food upon it, Sakumo noted with a sad smile.

About an hour later, he knocked on Kakashi’s bedroom door with a paper bag full of takeout. There was no answer from within. _Well,_ thought Sakumo, _it’s better than ‘go away,’ so I’ll take it as an ‘enter at your own peril.’_ He pushed the door inward and was met with only darkness. The shadows created by the moon fell upon Kakashi’s back. He had curled himself up—too tightly—and faced the wall. He stared at the boy’s back; by the rise and fall of his shoulders, Kakashi was not asleep. Nonetheless, he wasn’t sure what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ just didn’t seem adequate.

Without warning, an empty growl slid between them and Kakashi cringed. “Is that… Chinese?” the boy asked tentatively.

Sakumo couldn’t help but laugh. It was then that he remembered that, for all of Kakashi’s stoicism and cool exterior, he _was_ still just a little boy. “Yep. Couldn’t let you go to bed hungry, could I? What kind of father would I be?”

Kakashi turned over, and a disapproving flicker of his eyes answered, _A rotten one._ Sakumo stifled the need to defend himself and affixed a smile to his face instead. The two of them ate their Chinese food in comfortable silence, finally at ease with one another, or at least at a momentary truce. It was as if they had finally found something to agree upon: cooking was hard; much easier and more efficient to order takeout. 

Finally, Kakashi set aside the cardboard container and sank back into his pillow, a contented smile upon his face. Sakumo watched him with interest; it was the first time he could recall seeing his son smile since the day his wife had died. Ever since then, Kakashi had taken to wearing that damnable mask for reasons he refused to divulge. For the first time since Natsuki’s death, Sakumo entertained the hope that Kakashi’s innocence might still be saved. It was so… normal, seeing him sulk, throw a tantrum, and then achieve blissful happiness with a full meal and a cozy bed.

He considered setting aside the container of lo mein he was devouring. He was nearing his limit as well, but Chinese food was just _so good_ he couldn’t stop. It was relaxing, enjoying Chinese takeout, propped up on one elbow upon the floor, spending quality time with his son, like this, worried about nothing but a stomachache.

And then, “Dad, can you read me a story?”

Tears sprang to his eyes instantly, though he managed to keep them from spilling over. Reading Kakashi bedtime stories had been Natsuki’s joy, and Kakashi had never let Sakumo read him a story before. In that respect, he had always preferred his mother. It was one of the private moments that was sacred between mother and son. Sakumo’s role as father had been to discipline and guide Kakashi on his path--too short a path, in his opinion--toward becoming a ninja and a man. Natsuki had focused more on protecting Kakashi’s childhood and helping him to experience all of the world’s best. Together, their partnership had been working; Kakashi was just as brilliant and fierce as he was compassionate and happy.

Until she died. Now he was just brilliant and fierce. Without Natsuki’s balancing effects, Kakashi had tipped the balance, and it was up to Sakumo to try to restore it. He was disciplinarian as well as nurturer, forced to chastise just as he was forced to hug and comfort. It was difficult to acknowledge that Natsuki was truly gone, but for Kakashi to ask his father for a story… “Dad, are you okay?” Kakashi asked, suspicious. 

Sakumo realized he had been staring and shook himself to awareness. “I’m fantastic,” Sakumo assured him, voice thick. “Which story would you like to hear?” 

Kakashi shrugged, feigning indifference. “You pick. Whatever you want.” He shifted in the covers and laced his fingers behind his head. A moment later, he pulled his mask back up to cover his face from the nose down. 

It pained Sakumo to see him do that, but he refrained from asking about it. Kakashi always shut down emotionally as soon as he asked about the mask, and he was not about to risk losing this moment between them now. He would just have to accept that the mask was part of Kakashi now, a part that he was never to understand or even ask about. The mask upon his face was a manifestation of his darkness; it had appeared during their direst hour, and each time that it was so much as acknowledged, Kakashi’s demons were reborn. Yes, best not to ask about it now. He knew what the answer would be anyway. _I don’t want to talk about it._

Would Kakashi ever want to talk about anything, with him?

_Dad, can you read me a story?_

He stood and walked to the door so Kakashi couldn’t see the tears that had spilled. “Dad, where are you going?” Kakashi asked, emotions creeping back into his toneless voice. Was he… actually mourning Sakumo’s departure?

Sakumo swallowed, hard, as he stopped in the doorway. His fingers dug into the wood of the frame. He had to take several deep breaths before he could form words. “I’m just going to grab a book, son,” he assured him, voice trembling only slightly. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh.”

As soon as he was out of earshot he slid down the wall of the hallway and broke down. His son had asked him for a story. _Him!_ Sobs racked his body, unstoppable. In the months following Natsuki’s death, he had watched helplessly as his son withdrew within himself and behind that mask. Life had left his eyes, joy had left his soul. It was torture to watch one’s own son retreat into a hollow husk of bones and flesh, hardly even living at all. He didn’t know what to do--had never known what to do, now less than before. 

Who would have thought that takeout Chinese and an unspoken apology was all that it took?

He scrubbed the tears from his eyes and found his book. It was his favorite book, one he had kept hidden from Natsuki--even if she knew exactly where it was. It was actually the only book he ever read for enjoyment. Most of the plots in stories bored him. He didn’t have the kind of time to devote to reading. When he had free time, he preferred to spend it sleeping.

\--

He cleared his throat and began to read from where he’d left his bookmark. “‘But Megumi!’ Takashi cried out, grasping her hand. ‘You don’t have to go!’

“She turned to him, tears in her eyes. He wanted to hold her tight and kiss the tears away, draw her into his room, peel her clothes off one piece at a time, and show her the way to heaven. ‘Takashi, how can I ever trust you again?’ Her voice shook with emotion, but her knees knocked inward, and she fell into his embrace, a helpless maiden in her knight’s embrace.

“He got the distinct sense that he was winning this game. One push, and she’d be his. ‘Stay with me.’ His voice was smooth and sweet as he tipped her chin up, bringing her full lips into dangerous proximity to his own. Her teeth claimed her lower lip in anticipation of his kiss as he stared into the dark, sparkling depths of her eyes. ‘Stay the night.’

“He hadn’t answered her question, but that was because there was no answer that she would accept. He didn’t deserve her trust, but he wanted her anyway. If he could get her into bed, she’d forget all about the cruel things that he had done. If he could just do that, he wouldn’t need to explain why she had caught him locking lips with her pretty friend.

“When those long, dark lashes fluttered, he knew that her decision was made, and he pressed his lips to hers. ‘Yes,’ she whispered against him. ‘Yes, I will stay with you.’”

Sakumo looked over to his son, fully expecting the boy to be at rapt attention. Instead, Kakashi’s eyebrows were raised into his messy hairline, and his eyes belied exasperation. “Seriously, Dad?” he asked, voice deadpan.

Sakumo was honestly offended. “Whaaaa? You mean you don’t like it? The level of drama! The fluttering of the heart!” His hands were flailing wildly, pages from the novel fluttering with his motions. “Burning tragedy! The evil secrets! The beautiful love of a man and a woman… it’s truly wonderful!” When he looked back at Kakashi, he fervently expected for the boy to be just as captivated as him. After all, they were of a bloodline, weren’t they? Several silent moments passed, and Sakumo grew more dismayed. He sighed and shut the book with a muted snap. “Fine, I won’t read to you anymore. I understand.” He put his hands on his knees and made to stand.

“No!” Kakashi cried out suddenly. “I just…” he trailed off, unsure how to say it. Sakumo waited, his heart in his throat. “You just weren’t reading it dramatically enough. It’s a good story. A great story. I can definitely see why you like it, Dad. Keep reading? Please?”

Sakumo felt the thrill of victory. Kakashi appreciated his taste in books! Smiling like an idiot, he opened the cover and thumbed through the pages, trying to find where he left off. _See, Natsuki… I told you it wasn’t trash,_ he thought. _Our son likes Icha Icha, too._

He cleared his throat again, trying to muster up the courage to amp up the drama in a book that was already so compelling to begin with. He raised his voice to a higher pitch as he read Megumi’s line. “‘Yes,’” he whispered in her voice. “‘I will stay with you. Nothing else matters but this...’”

[](http://photobucket.com/)


	5. Hold My Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "Hold My Hand"  
> The Fray
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtxA-b67srw

Kakashi was no longer the happy shining energetic boy of laughter and smiles he had been before the death of his mother. With the promise he made himself on the night she had died, he stripped happiness from his mind and forced himself to live in a perpetual state of sullenness. He could not get upset if he lived this way; nothing could spoil his mood when his mood was always rotten.

He became the sad one, the dark one, the cold and angry one. He looked upon the world with disdain, rarely speaking and never smiling. He excluded himself from social contact whenever he could, hiding in his tree for hours on end between training and sleep. His favorite branch had become a private place of self-imposed solitary reclusion. 

When he was forced to interact with people, he did so with as few words as possible. Instead of speaking, he would shrug his shoulders or nod or shake his head. The less he said, the less likely people were to speak to him. His mask was ever present and people had long stopped asking about it. It became the barrier he had hoped it would. People who mistook his change in character as a result of needing comfort often found themselves pierced with an angry cold stare, then ignored when they attempted to console him. Kakashi purposely went out of his way to alienate everyone. 

After weeks of awkward one-sided interactions, people eventually took the hint. He was more than aware that they continued to look at him with pity in their eyes. But if he caught them staring at him as such, they quickly looked away from his furious glare. It made him sick to see people look at him that way and any consoling words they might utter made his blood run cold.

While he let the world believe he was uncaring and had completely gotten over the death of his mother, that wasn't quite true. He _suppressed_ the emotions tied to her death with every conscious thought, but it was _still there._ The empty dark hole that had been left behind by his mother's untimely departure could never be filled with contrived pleasantries or pitiful looks.

Kakashi spent his life looking down, literally as well as figuratively, on the people who felt it right to feel sorry for him. They had no right to pity him. What did they know of how he felt? How could they possibly begin to understand the pain and misery that clutched at his heart in his weaker moments? How could they empathize with a boy who woke screaming from nightmares in which his mother rotted away to a dried husk of a corpse?

They could never understand... _their_ families were intact.

Some might argue that he still had family, that he still had his father. But his father was not a replacement for his mother. No one would ever replace her. His father had a hard time just being a father and it seemed as the weeks passed that he was increasingly incapable even of that.

And then there was their house. It was less a home than it was a reeking cesspit of neglect. Piles of dirty clothes were strewn in all corners, their stale smell adding to the plethora of nauseating odors in the house. Dirty dishes festered in the sink to the point that there were very few clean ones left in the cupboards. The bathroom was disgusting. Filthy bloodied uniforms and bandages lay where they had been discarded, forgotten, rank and molding in the moist air of the room.

A thick coating of dust covered every surface, floating up into the air whenever it was disturbed. The living room was less a place to sit than it was an obstacle course, the clutter on the floor endlessly piling higher every day. It was foolish to expect to find something in a hurry. It took time to locate anything in the clutter. Kakashi spent most of his time anywhere other than at home, unable to bring himself to clean the house lest he brush up memories he was loath to face. The house was little more than a filthy hovel; Kakashi’s mother would have been mortified if she ever saw the place in such a state.

So no, he was certain that no one could understand exactly how he felt or how his life had changed. He was sure that the words of sympathy would turn to disgust if they saw how he and his father currently lived. He did everything possible to keep people at arm’s length so no one got close enough to see the state of his life now.

It was midday and Kakashi sat on his branch, looking out over the village. He watched with bored eyes as people lived and laughed in the streets below. It occurred to him that they all had a reason for living, yet he had no clue as to what his own was. He felt so lost and alone, despite his predicament being of his own making. He was well aware that if he would just allow people in, he would not feel so alone. But he wasn't about to allow anyone to get close to him. Up until recently, that had also included his father.

Kakashi sighed as the air turned more cold and a shiver ran through his body. He decided to go home to fetch a jumper and something warm to eat. As he climbed down the tree and made his way towards the house, he thought back to that night some weeks before, when he allowed his father to get close to him.

In the weeks following his mother's death, his father had attempted to carry on the parental duties of two, and failed on both accounts. He was distant, neither warm nor loving. Kakashi came to the conclusion that his father did not love him, probably never had. But the night his father scolded him for lying, Kakashi had seen that his father's heart hurt as much as his own and that he _did_ care. The lies he had told, though small and simple, had caused his father pain. He had seen as much in the man's eyes when he sent him to his room.

Kakashi had thrown himself on his bed, angry at having been sent there. But his anger quickly vanished when he questioned what he thought he knew of his father. If he was so uncaring, why would little lies bother him? That his father might actually care for him in a way that his mother once did never occurred to Kakashi. His father had always been the strong one, the fabled White Fang of Konoha. He was the warrior that Kakashi most aspired to be, if not surpass. As he had lain there, he tried to remember the times in which his father showed him love and not the stern toleration of a seasoned shinobi.

To his surprise, he remembered many times in which his father had more than shown his love. From being carried on his father’s shoulders while enjoying a sunny day to the way his father hugged him tightly on return from a mission. And then there were the late night visits in which his dad would bring him a sneaky snack when Kakashi had been sent to bed without supper. There were many signs that his dad loved him dearly and it made Kakashi feel happy. So when his father had come to his room, takeaway in hand, Kakashi cautiously opened his heart to allow him in, and it felt right. 

As he approached the door to his house, Kakashi laughed as he remembered his father's antics while he read that awful, unsuitable story that night. But as he pushed the door open, the mirth died away. Kakashi was assaulted with the nauseating smell of rotten garbage and uncleanliness. Had his mother been alive, the house would never have fallen into such foulness. Kakashi realised that his father needed his mother just as much as he did.

He decided right then that if they were to live as a family, it would be in the same way they had when his mother had been alive. Kakashi squared his shoulders and gritted his teeth as he stepped into the house and set to cleaning it up. His father was at a meeting and would not be home until much later, giving Kakashi plenty of time to surprise him.

He started in the putrid bathroom. His first mistake was thinking that he could hold his breath for the entire job. He soon threw the window open and gasped down deep lungfuls of clean air before starting again. His second was kicking at a pile of stinking uniforms only for his foot to slip on something gooey, flipping him onto his back. With determination, he got back up and cleaned the space up until it looked like a bathroom, and not the inside of a hospital refuse bin.

He continued to clean his way through the house, humming the same tune his mother used to sing when she did the housework. The hallway was clear for the first time in weeks, as was the living room. Everything was either tidied and put away or thrown into the rubbish. The filthy dishes were cleaned and stacked in the cupboards. Every floor was swept clean of dropped food and empty wrappers.

When he finished, Kakashi stood with his hands on his hips and inspected his work. It wasn't perfect. Not even near his mother's standards. But it was clean and a great improvement on a previously uninhabitable house.

Kakashi was rather excited to see his father’s reaction to his hard work. He grabbed a glass of milk then sat at the table to wait. He hummed a tune, swinging his legs in time to the beat he drummed on the table top. After a while he looked to the clock. His father was late. Outside, the light of day began to fade. Kakashi wondered what was taking his father so long. His enthusiasm had long dispersed. Eventually, he got tired of waiting and decided to go climb back up his tree.

That was when he saw his father making his way up the main street, heading for home. It appeared as if he was unable to walk in a straight line and Kakashi laughed at the way the man staggered around. The closer he got to home, the funnier it became. By the time he reached the house, his father was falling over his own feet. Kakashi came down the tree as quickly as he could, running to get to the house first, eager to show his dad what he had done.

“Kashi! My little Kashi! C'mere you!” his dad shouted as he stumbled up the path towards the door and a waiting Kakashi.

_Something_ put Kakashi on edge. The way his father was moving and speaking was wrong. He seemed so... _out of control._ Kakashi didn't like it. To see such a strong man stumbling about and slurring his words while giggling idiotically unnerved him. He was pulled into the air and danced around by his father who laughed more freely and happily than Kakashi had seen for some time.

Kakashi grinned when he heard his father's sharp intake of breath as he opened the door and saw what Kakashi had done. He stopped in the doorway and looked around the clean kitchen. He seemed bewildered. His mouth opened and closed as he put Kakashi down on the ground and absentmindedly ruffled his mop of silver hair. Then his face brightened as he took a step inside. Kakashi stayed in the doorway, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting to hear his father thoughts.

“Natsuki?” he heard his father whisper. “Natsuki! I'm home, love!” Kakashi watched in confusion as his father staggered into the hall, apparently puzzled over the fact that his wife did not come to greet him.

Kakashi became more confused as he watched Sakumo walk from room to room, looking for that which no longer lived.

“Natsuki? Natsuki!” His father cried out Kakashi’s dead mother’s name, tearing a fresh wound in his heart. He tried to block it out, but the angrier his father became, the louder his shouts grew.

“Dad? I...I tidied up....Dad?” He tried to remind his father that he was there, that he was _the only one_ there.

Sakumo came tearing back into the kitchen, his eyes widening when they fell upon his son. He rushed over to where Kakashi stood and knelt before him, balancing awkwardly on one knee. “Where's your mother, son?”

Kakashi was struck dumb. He had no words to give his father that would not break his heart. Hot tears stung his eyes as he watched his father swaying on bended knee, looking at him expectantly.

“Kashi, where's your mother?” His voice was pleading, begging for an answer. But Kakashi knew the answer was not the one his father wanted to hear.

“She...she's dead, Dad...” He whispered, hearing his own voice breaking.

His father's eyes opened wide with shock as if Kakashi had struck him. Then, rage clouded his features. Kakashi did not like what he saw in his father's eyes.

“What have I told you about lying, son?” The words were whispered yet Kakashi flinched at them as if they had been roared in his face. His father raised his hands and gripped Kakashi's arms tightly, fingers digging painfully into his young flesh as he shook him. “How dare you lie to me! Especially about this! Look at the place! I _know_ your mother has been here!”

“I...I...”

“Go to your room!” Sakumo growled, releasing Kakashi's arms.

Kakashi hesitated. He did not understand why his father was so angry. It made no sense to him that the man thought his mother had come back to clean the house. Kakashi sniffed and sobbed once, wishing his father would look at him. “Please, Dad...”

“GO NOW!”

Kakashi ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He ran from the house and into the dark of night amidst his father's sorrowful cries. The heartbreaking sound followed him as he climbed his tree. When he finally reached his branch, Kakashi pulled his knees up to his chest, buried his face and covered his head with his arms. He sat there shivering in the cold night as his father's misery raged on below. He rocked back and forth, trying to drown out his father's torment by humming his mother's favorite tune. Nothing could stifle the heart wrenching noise. 

Kakashi fought to hold back the tears that threatened. He clamped his hands over his ears and hummed louder, hoping to block out his father's despair. But he could still hear the sounds of a man breaking completely, sounds that resonated deep within Kakashi. He cried out, increasing the speed of his rocking as he began to sob. He continued to hum his little tune, but it was broken and only made him cry harder.

He should never have allowed his father into his heart. Kakashi sat there breaking because he had allowed it and he wished with all his might that he could close the man out again. But he couldn’t. His father was so deep in his heart now that it was impossible to think of life without him.

Eventually, the sounds from the house stopped. Kakashi rested back against the tree trunk and took his hands from his ears. All he could hear was the rustle of leaves in the cool breeze. He laid his head back and stared at the dark sky, eyes unfocused. Kakashi sat there for a long time, unthinking, unfeeling. His mind was blank, as if the shock of what had happened left him incapable of forming a coherent thought. It took a while for him to register the pain in his hands. When he did, he raised them to see that his unconscious habit had rubbed the skin away from three of his fingers. He stared at his own red and broken skin, noting the tremble of his hands. His teeth chattered and his whole body shook violently. He was freezing.

It was too cold to remain outside unprotected. He would be dead by morning if he remained there overnight. Kakashi climbed down the tree carefully. His limbs were sluggish from the chill, making his descent much slower than usual. He crept back into the house with the intent of grabbing clothes and his bed covers, to haul them outside and sleep in the tree. He noted the time. It was little wonder he was so cold considering he had sat in the tree for over four hours. He continued to move silently about the house. He took some plasters from the drawer and pushed them into his pocket to dress his fingers later. He made his way to his room, pulled on a thick jumper, and grabbed his bedding. He packed it in his small backpack then made his way stealthily back into the kitchen.

He was just about to leave when he sensed a movement behind him. Kakashi dropped what he was carrying and froze when two strong arms grabbed and lifted him. He was turned around in the air and crushed against his father's chest in an embrace that forced the air from his lungs.

“Oh Gods! I thought you were gone forever, son! I searched and searched...” His father held him out and stared at him. All signs of his earlier torpor were gone and his eyes were filled with nothing but worry. “I'm so sorry, Kashi. Please, forgive me.”

Kakashi's little face screwed up in an attempt not to cry. He found his body shaking, not from the cold, but from the sob that made his breathing hitch as he stared at his father.

“Oh, I am _so_ sorry, Kashi.” His father whispered as the tears began to flow down Kakashi's face.

“It...it's okay, Dad.” He said, his voice hitching between sobs. “I...I understand!” He didn't, not really. But he wanted to, and that was all that mattered.

He threw himself against his father's chest as the man curled his arms tighter around him. His father carried him into the main bedroom and lay them both down on the bed. He held Kakashi until he stopped crying and long after they had both fallen asleep.

They both found a reason to live that night. They found it in each other.


	6. You're My Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "You're My Friend"  
> Eels
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTz8xcJrrKI

“Dad, it’s time to wake up.”

The voice cut through his dream, but he ignored it. Until a book smacked down upon his upturned face and he jerked upright in a furious daze. “What what? What are you doing? Stop it!” He blinked open sleepy eyes, but the room was still too dark to see anything. He heard his son’s exasperated sigh and what was probably a crossing of arms. “It’s still dark outside, Kakashi. Go back to sleep.” He turned over and wrapped the covers around himself, not to be disturbed.

The mattress caved and squeaked as Kakashi leapt over his father and alighted on the other side of his bed in a crouch. “Dad,” he interposed sternly. “Today’s the day I start at the academy. I need to be serious about training. We need to go for our morning run.”

One eye winked open and stared at the nebulous region of possible son unhappily. “Can’t we do that tomorrow?”

Another long-suffering sigh escaped Kakashi’s lips. He heard it, rather than saw it. For a reason that he still refused to divulge, Kakashi had taken to wearing a face mask. It hid everything below his eyes. Amazing, how much expression could be shown—or hidden—just through the eyes. “You’ve been saying that for months, Dad. Isn’t training important to you at all?”

With a heavy sigh, he shoved the covers aside. There would be no more going back to sleep, now. He was awake. “Of course training is important to me, Kakashi,” he explained patiently. He pointed to the digital numbers on the alarm clock at bedside. “It’s just not important to me at four o’clock in the morning.”

They stared at each other—or he presumed that they did, since he still couldn’t really see—in the darkness of his room. Finally, the mattress groaned and sprang back to its original form, announcing Kakashi’s departure from it. “Fine,” he told his father. “I’ll do the morning run alone.”

Sakumo heard the undertone, the word Kakashi hadn’t said: _Again_. He felt guilty, even if he knew that he shouldn’t. People simply weren’t meant to be awake before the sun; it had been a concept that had been near and dear to his heart since he _had_ a heart. Still, he was all that Kakashi had, and if his son wanted to spend time with him—even if it meant exercise before dawn—then he should be grateful that he at least had a relationship with his son, suck it up, and go for the damned morning run. “Kakashi, wait!” he called, regretting the decision already. He heard the progression of footsteps pause. It was enough. “I’ll be right out. Wait for me, okay?”

The sound that came from his son might have been one of pleasure. “Sure, Dad.”

He extricated himself from a tangle of sheets and pillows. Nearly six months since she’d died, and he was still nocturnally trying to pretend she was there. The extra pillows had migrated under the sheets, and his legs had been wrapped around them. _You’re too hot,_ she had always complained, scooting over to the far side. It still shocked him to wake up in the morning and see an empty space.

And then there was the matter of their difficult and precocious son. Kakashi was a handful and a half.

It was a good thing that Sakumo had two hands. It would have to be enough.

As they walked toward the academy, Sakumo realized that school might be the best thing for Kakashi. It would be good for him to be around kids his own age, if only for the sole reason that Kakashi was determined to not have a childhood. _Please find some friends,_ he pleaded silently. His little boy was growing up way too fast. Sakumo, being an adult himself, had no idea how to stop it.

His thoughts were interrupted when he spotted another man with his son outside the academy. He nearly wept with relief as he called out, “Ah! Nice to meet you! My kid is starting at the academy today. Please be friends with him!” _Please, please, please._

“No, that’s impossible,” declared the boy’s father.

“Eh?” Sakumo reeled with shock. Was Kakashi already so far gone that other kids didn’t even want to play with him? Or was this other man simply not going to let his son have any friends?

“No, Dad,” Kakashi began tiredly. “This time, he failed the academy entrance exam.”

Sakumo felt like a jerk for even bringing it up. Failing the academy entrance exam must be disappointing for both father and son. The other boy needed friends just like all kids did. In fact, he thought, perking up somewhat, a friend like Kakashi was _just_ what he needed! He would push the other boy just as the other boy would temper Kakashi. “Ah… I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Since you’re in front of the academy, I thought….”

At the same time, the father laughed, his ill humor broken. “That’s right!” he said to Kakashi, confirming his son’s failure with far too much cheer.

“Is that funny?” Kakashi asked hotly, clearly offended. His arms crossed.

Sakumo knew full well how strongly his son felt about slacking on Shinobi pursuits. Kakashi might be too old for the body he lived in, but he was still a child and Sakumo was still the parent, and rudeness was unacceptable. “Kakashi, don’t be rude!” he chastised.

“You already said something rude yourself, Dad,” Kakashi responded smoothly.

He had, hadn’t he? Some role model he was!

“He’s trying to enter the ninja academy even though he can’t use ninjutsu,” Kakashi explained derisively. “It’s pretty obvious that…” he trailed off, then looked up at his father. “Oh, it’s getting late, Dad. We should go.”

Ever punctual, his son. Sakumo was beginning to worry that perhaps his little boy was more mature than he was himself. “Y-yeah,” he replied weakly, feeling like he was looking down at his own father in miniature. “Well then…” he murmured toward the pair in the green jumpsuits. He waved, and he and Kakashi started toward the school.

They were halted when the other boy finally spoke for the first time. “You’re Hatake Kakashi, right?” Next to him, Kakashi paused and turned toward the kid. Sakumo tried—hard—to ignore the blasé contempt that had left ugly tracks across his young son’s face. To their surprise, though, the other kid flashed a thumbs up and a bright smile and thanked Kakashi for “cheering.” His father smiled in approval, and Kakashi, expectedly, was dumbfounded.

“Huh?” In that one word was a mishmash of confusion and curiosity.

Sakumo, for one, was grateful. This boy was Kakashi’s polar opposite. Spectacularly unskilled, unfortunate looking, and yet optimistic all the same. Kakashi could learn a lot from a boy like that. Kakashi was not lacking in talent or Shinobi values, but he could benefit from some lifelong social lessons. Kakashi wouldn’t even bother with the kid, though, unless Sakumo somehow managed to turn it into some kind of Shinobi challenge. “Kakashi, don’t let your guard down just because you entered the Academy,” he told his son conspiratorially.

“Eh?”

“At this rate, that boy will become stronger than you. They still haven’t announced the vacancies. The Academy isn’t stupid. You should remember his name. He’ll become a good rival.” He could see by the look in Kakashi’s eyes that his boy was skeptical. That was good, too. Kakashi was a little too powerful for his own good. He’d need to learn not to underestimate his opponents or his cockiness could get him killed.

“I won’t need to remember his name,” Kakashi grumbled. “I’ll be leaving behind the academy soon enough. I don’t plan to spend more time here than is necessary.” Kakashi shrugged, then walked on ahead toward the door of the academy, leaving his father behind. 

“Hey!” Sakumo called after him. “Have a great first day!” Kakashi’s hand raised into the air in a backward wave, not turning toward him. Within moments, his little boy was lost in a crowd of other people’s kids. _Please make friends,_ he repeated in his thoughts. 

“Such a pain,” a deep voice said behind him. “Why anyone wants children is beyond me.”

Sakumo smiled and turned to greet his teammate. “Someday, I think you’ll understand. There is nothing more rewarding than having a child.” Fugaku raised an eyebrow and cocked his chin in the Academy’s direction. “Don’t you remember what you were like when you were his age?”

Fugaku barked a laugh. “Yeah. Worse. Which is exactly why I’m never having any.”

“Isn’t it expected of you?” Sakumo countered. “You’re the heir to the Uchiha Clan, after all. I doubt your father is going to let you get away with not marrying.”

Fugaku blushed at the same time he scowled. It looked hilarious upon the man’s face. Fugaku was as stubborn as he was irascible. It was so easy to get him riled. That was most of the reason that they had butted heads their whole lives, especially as teammates. Their team was mostly disbanded now, but each time one was formed around Sakumo, Fugaku was always a part of it, and the other two members of the four man squad were as fluid as rain. Sakumo was always captain, Fugaku was always pissed about it, and every mission they ever went on was a miraculous success. It was an odd amalgamation of Shinobi each time. He and Fugaku were more or less unwilling partners in the village’s schemes, but during the heat of the moment, they made an impeccable combination; Fugaku’s Sharingan was instrumental in immobilizing and terrifying an enemy--the Sharingan was legendary, respected, and feared--and Sakumo’s aggressive abilities were difficult to withstand. The two of them had sort of accidentally become friends, of a kind. 

Fugaku’s blush was telling, though. “You found someone, didn’t you?” Sakumo pressed, feeling mischievous. 

“None of your business, White Fang,” Fugaku snarled. “And even if I did, I’m still not going to be responsible for breeding undisciplined brats like yours.”

He frowned. “Fugaku,” he murmured with a syrupy tone. “You get to raise your children to believe in your own ideals. They might be exactly like you.”

Fugaku leveled him with a challenging stare. “So what you’re saying is that you’re just as undisciplined and unruly as your own son?”

Sakumo’s eyes narrowed in return. “Say what you will about me, but you leave my son out of this. That boy will be better than me, in every way.”

“Hn. He’s already an improvement, if you ask me.” He crossed his arms and frowned. “Are we training today, or are you still trying to catch up on sleep?” His tone was derisive.

Sakumo’s shoulders sagged, his breath escaping in a sigh. First Kakashi, now Fugaku. Between the two of them, Sakumo was never going to catch up on sleep nor have time for napping. “We’re training,” he confirmed. “At least until I have to pick up Kakashi from school.”

Evening found them at the newly established Ichiraku ramen. It was quickly becoming one of their favorite places for dinner. “How was your first day at the academy?” Sakumo asked with interest. Kakashi’s only response was an indifferent shrug. “Did you make any friends?”

“No,” he responded as he pushed his empty bowl away. “But I don’t need any friends, Dad.”

“Everyone needs friends, Kakashi.” His arms crossed over his chest.

“ _You_ don’t have any friends,” he countered.

“Of course I do,” he answered with a frown.

“Oh yeah? Like who?” Kakashi retorted, crossing his arms like a perfect mirror. 

“Well…” he trailed off. “Uchiha Fugaku, obviously.”

“Fugaku? You don’t seem to like him very much,” he observed doubtfully.

“Yes, I do!” he asserted.

“Then he doesn’t like you.”

“Yes, he does! We’ve been friends our whole lives!” 

Kakashi answered with one raised eyebrow. _Seriously, Dad?_ “Who else, then?”

“Well…” He didn’t truly have an answer. “Everyone in the village is my friend.”

“If everyone in the village is your friend, then everyone in the village is my friend. It’s exactly the same. So I still don’t need any more friends.”

Sakumo sighed, defeated. Outsmarted, again, by a four year old. Well, almost five, he supposed. “Kakashi, every boy your age could benefit from some friends,” he finished, his heart not really in it. “Can’t you please try to have at least one friend?”

“I do have _one_ friend,” Kakashi offered with a shrug.

 Sakumo’s heart leapt. _Thank goodness!_ “Really?! Is it that boy with the green jumpsuit?” he wondered aloud.

“No,” Kakashi replied with a shake of his head.

“Oh.” His hopes dashed. That boy would have been ideal. But friends were good, no matter what! “Who then?”

“ _You’re_ my friend, Dad.”


	7. Everyday is Exactly the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "Everyday is Exactly the Same"  
> Nine Inch Nails
> 
> https://youtu.be/-Aj9_8t1eQc

Days rolled together, each as tedious and indistinguishable as the next. Things did not move fast enough for Kakashi’s vast intelligence and quick mind. At first he was treated the same as the others in the class, despite knowing he was far beyond most--if not all--of his classmates. While others struggled with different aspects of the course, Kakashi excelled in every way. Naturally, this left him bored out of his skull while waiting on the others catching up. The teacher had long stopped chastising him for daydreaming during class hours as Kakashi always finished the tasks given to him well ahead of the others.

He had an insatiable curiosity and a voracious desire to acquire knowledge way beyond his years. It was common to see him sitting with his teacher, discussing things that even most adults would have trouble comprehending. Kakashi had resigned himself to completing the academic year at a slow pace, knowing that he wouldn’t be advanced to the next level of training until that first year was over. He was determined, though, to advance quicker once this foundation term was finished and no one would hold him back. Until then, he contented himself by devising ways to push people further away while reinforcing the mental barriers that he had started to build long ago.

But there were people who didn’t seem to care how remote he was or even how offhand and cold he could be. Two people in particular, one of whom was currently sitting across the room from him, putting eyedrops in his eyes. Kakashi leaned lazily on his desk, his arms stretched over the top as his legs extended out beneath. He ignored the noises to attract his attention, refusing to even acknowledge the boy who made them. The dark haired boy appeared to be immune to Kakashi’s best efforts to push him away. He always ignored the cold stares and abrupt manner, attempting instead to win Kakashi over with his cheery disposition. For some reason, the young Uchiha just could not, or would not, take a hint.

Looking out the window, he watched the other kids from his class enjoying their break outside in the sun. They practiced their ninja moves and played games, but he didn’t join them. He never had and most probably never would. He preferred the solitude of the empty classroom. It was the only time he managed to enjoy some peace during school hours. But today, his peace was interrupted by this boy who continually pestered him, despite Kakashi’s obviously hostile demeanor. The lad jumped on the seat in front of him and leaned on the desk. Kakashi rolled his eyes but continued to ignore the boys presence.  

“Why do you always do that?” The young boy asked as he climbed over the desk to sit beside Kakashi.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

“What?” He replied, continuing to stare out the window, wishing the overly open and enthusiastic Obito would just leave him alone and go outside with the others.

“That.” He said, nodding towards Kakashi’s hands. “That thing with your fingers?”

Drawing in an overly pronounced breath, he turned from the window and stared at Obito with bored eyes. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he sat back languidly in his seat. “Why do you always wear such ridiculous eye wear?” He countered, eyeing the outrageous goggles with clear disgust.

“I have to protect my eyes for when I awaken my sharingan!” Obito replied, sitting up and puffing out his chest, clearly proud of his heritage.

“There is no reason for the silly ear protection combo though, unless you plan on developing ear sharingan. That could make you mildly interesting if you did.”

“At least I’m not like you, wearing that stupid mask over your stupid face!” Obito folded his arms over his chest, pleased with his retort.

Kakashi pulled himself upright, his eyes narrowing. He took his hands from his pockets then turned to face Obito. “Is that so?” He whispered with barely contained anger that made Obito’s eyes open wide. “Mention it ever again, and I’ll make the hideous things on your head, disappear up your ass.”

Obito deflated, pushing his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “You’re such an ass, Kakashi,” he said petulantly, drawing his eyes off the silver haired boy. He stood up, leaped the desk and ran out of the classroom. Kakashi shrugged and sat back again, not caring what the boy thought of him. Worrying about what other people thought of him wasn’t very high on his give-a-shit list, and he wasn’t about to change that.

He sighed and shook his head, then stared out of the window again. Watching the other kids play never made him feel left out and he did not yearn to join them. But there were days he wished he didn’t have to grow up quite as quickly as he seemed to be. Sometimes he wished he could be as care free and innocent as his classmates. But then he would see someone try and fail to do something clever and he was reminded of why he was better than them. Even as he watched, two boys attempted to concentrate enough chakra in their feet to run up the wall of the school. He sighed and shook his head as they fell on their backs, yelping in pain. Normally he would have found that funny, but today it just annoyed him. He had been using that same technique since he could walk, using it to bound through the trees at his house and secure himself to his favorite hideaway. It irritated him that he had to suffer these fools. He looked forward to the day that he graduated and left them behind.

His eyes wandered from the crying boys to rest on a small figure who sat on the ground over by the tree swing. He sat there watching the others play as Kakashi did. His raven dark hair fell messily around his face, huge bushy eyebrows lowered above his sad eyes. When Gai was accepted from the waiting list, Kakashi had felt that the placement was a mistake and wasted on such a boy. But, during his daily surveillance of his classmates, Kakashi saw a strength in Gai he hadn’t noticed before. As his father had said, Kakashi was too quick to judge and he found himself observing the strange-looking boy more than any of the others.

The reason for his interest was that Gai appeared to be very similar to himself in some ways. He had plenty of courage and was always ready to try out something new. He was quick witted and out of all the others, the most on par with Kakashi’s intellect. He had willpower by the bucket load with the endurance to match and a strength of character that fortified everything he did. But he was also the polar opposite of Kakashi. Where Kakashi preferred pushing people away, Gai enjoyed the company of others, often overly enthusiastic in his interactions. Kakashi enjoyed quiet unobtrusiveness, whereas Gai could be found loudly drawing attention to himself. While the boy struggled with many basic techniques, Kakashi could not deny Gai’s well above average skills in taijutsu. He was powerfully adept and precise, completely above all the others, except perhaps Kakashi. Kakashi was sure that his father had been right in saying that Gai might become stronger than him one day. With his obvious expertise in taijutsu, he probably would, in that speciality.

Out of everyone in his class, if he was ever to make a friend, it would most likely be Gai. But even he had been unable to break through Kakashi’s defenses, and gods had he tried with his irrepressible ways. Today, there was something about the dejected look on Gai’s face that upset Kakashi, and he found himself wanting to go speak to him. Not that he was going to... was he? He shook his head, pushing the anomalous thought from his mind. It was when he saw a group of two boys and a girl walk up to Gai that he changed his mind. They stood in front of him, and while plastering the most ridiculously over-exaggerated grins on their faces, they stuck their hands out with their thumbs up. It was clear that they were mocking Gai and it angered Kakashi, especially when Gai cheerfully returned the greeting, apparently oblivious to their teasing.

He sighed and stood up, not really sure if what he was about to do was a good idea. One last look at Gai made up his mind. He exited the classroom. Outside, the sun was warm and the air was cooled by a soft breeze that toyed with his hair as he sauntered over to sit on the tree swing. His resolve faltered when Gai looked up at him and his face brightened with a huge smile. He was sure the boy was about to make a spectacle. Suddenly, Kakashi wished he hadn’t bothered making the effort. Then the smile on Gai’s face slowly disappeared and he went back to crimping the length of a long blade of grass with his fingernail. They were quiet for some time, Gai lost in his thoughts while Kakashi... well, he never really spoke anyway.

Across the yard, the three who had just made fun of Gai were whispering in the ear of a small preschool boy. It was clear that they were up to no good. Kakashi’s heart sank when the little lad ran towards them while the others watched and suppressed their laughter. The boy stopped in front of them and turned back toward the three idiots encouraging him with a wave of their hands. He took a deep breath then stuck his thumb up towards Gai, a huge false smile on his face.

“New friend, Gai? Good job!” the little boy said as he rubbed a thumb over the scar across the bridge of his nose. He ran away. Raucous laughter erupted from the three conspirators. Kakashi wanted to run over and beat them. He slid off the swing and was about to when Gai put up a hand.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, waving towards the three idiots as if he appreciated the fact they had made fun of him.

“Why do you allow them to do that?” Kakashi asked as he reluctantly sat down beside Gai and tore out a tuft of grass, annoyed at the boy’s lack of retaliation.

“Why make a problem worse when the problem is theirs, not yours?” Gai replied, throwing away the ruined blade of grass and pulling out another. “It doesn’t bother me anyway.”

“Then why are you sitting here looking so sad?”

Gai stiffened, never taking his eyes off the grass between his fingers. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If they are upsetting you, I’d be more than willing to...”

“It’s not that.” Gai said, turning to look at Kakashi. “It’s my mum’s anniversary.”

Kakashi just stared, unable to speak past the tightness that had suddenly developed in his throat. Gai smiled sadly, looking away while twisting the blade of grass around his index finger.

“How long?” Kakashi eventually managed to say, his voice thick and harsh.

“Two years. Killed in action.” He said bitterly. “I was sorry to hear about your mum.”

“Yeah.” Was all Kakashi could say. He really wasn’t ready to speak about it, might not ever be. Gai didn’t push the issue anyway, probably knowing how raw Kakashi felt.

They sat there a little longer before Kakashi sighed and made to move. Their interaction had not been what Kakashi expected at all, but he was glad he came out to speak to Gai. While he remained convinced of his convictions, their limited conversation proved that he wasn’t the only one in the world who suffered. It was nice, if a little awkward, to sit and share some time with someone his own age, but as soon as he stood up, Kakashi’s barriers came crashing back down. He made to walk away, not even bothering to say goodbye, when Gai spoke again.

“It’s not healthy to be so alone, Kakashi. If you ever decide you want a friend, I’ll be there for you. Even if it’s just to sit quietly for a while.”

Kakashi smiled, well aware that with the exception of today, Gai would be quite unable to sit quietly even if he wanted to. But he appreciated the words and turned back towards Gai, nodding in acknowledgment of the offer. Gai smiled and raised his hand, giving Kakashi the thumbs up, to which he rolled his eyes and walked away.

“I saw that look Kakashi! You can’t deny our blossoming friendship!” Gai’s loud voice carried after him. Kakashi could not help but laugh quietly to himself as he made his way back indoors, unaware that his barriers had been breached.

The bell rang as he approached the classroom and he found himself carried into the room by a rush of eager children. As everyone sat back down in their seats, Kakashi looked around himself. His classmates were loud, chatting and laughing while they waited for the their teacher to return. As he looked, he really _saw_ them for the first time with a new appreciation for what they were. Children, filled with the same dreams, needs, and wants as himself, but most never tainted with the sorrow he had been dealt. He could be one of them, if he allowed himself to be. They all seemed happy; well, most of them. There were a few sitting at the back whose eyes were dark and expressions sullen. But for the most part, his classmates didn’t seem so bad. Could he allow himself to be like them? He wasn’t sure.

He noticed an exaggerated movement from the corner of his eye and he looked to find Obito waving at him. Once the boy had his attention, he proceeded to poke his tongue out at Kakashi then smile at him as if their conversation earlier had never happened. Even though Obito wouldn’t be able to see because of the mask, Kakashi smiled. Obito must have seen something though, as the lad smiled in return before he wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked towards the front of the class.

The teacher entered, and a hush fell over the room as everyone settled down for the rest of the school day. As he restarted his lecture, Kakashi tuned out and instead, immersed himself in his own thoughts. He wondered if he might have been wrong in his decision to push people away. It had felt good to have someone fight for his attention and see Obito smile when he had given it. It had also felt good to lend some support to Gai. Even though he had actually done very little, it was obviously appreciated by the fact Gai had proclaimed a start to their friendship.

It had been a strange morning. For the first time since he had started at the academy, Kakashi felt things moving too fast for him. Two friends in one day? It positively made his head spin.

 


	8. Someone You'd Admire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "Someone You'd Admire"  
> Fleet Foxes
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9etElkQGKc

“There’s some money in the empty coffee can in the fridge,” Sakumo told him, buckling his knife sheath to his person. “I didn’t have a chance to pick up groceries, but you can buy some with that.” He flickered a glance at his son.

“I know, Dad,” Kakashi replied, leaning in the doorway with crossed arms.

Sakumo sat in the kitchen chair and pulled his gear toward him. “I’ve asked Gai’s dad to come and check on you once a day in case you need anything,” he continued, tugging on his sandals.

“That’s hardly necessary, Dad.” His head thudded against the door frame.

Sakumo ignored the rebuke. “Don’t leave the stove on, and be careful with the knives. And don’t—“

“Dad!” Kakashi broke in, patience exhausted. “I know. This isn’t the first mission you’ve taken. I know where the grocery store is and I’m better at hitting the sales than you are. I take better care of you when you’re sick than you take care of me. I don’t need a babysitter! And I’ve worked with fires hotter than the stove’s and I’ve sharpened that knife that you carry. Need I remind you that _you_ sliced your thumb open when I handed it back to you." His father glanced at the bandage on his thumb as if surprised to see it there. "I’ll be fine, Dad.”

Sakumo could have sworn that Kakashi’s eyes rolled. His son was definitely growing up way too fast. _He’s just like you, Natsuki. Thank the gods._ “So you will,” he said with a secretive smile.

[](http://photobucket.com/)

Kakashi’s head tilted, suspicious. “What? Why that look?”

“Nothing,” Sakumo answered, seeing his wife in the boy’s skeptic eyebrow. “It just makes me proud to have a son that knows how to take care of himself when I’m gone.” He finished with the buckles, clips, and ties of his uniform, then stood and walked past Kakashi, ruffling his hair on his way out of the kitchen.

“Hey!” came Kakashi’s indignant response, hands flying to his locks to put them back just as messily as they were.

“Don’t work too hard in class!” Sakumo yelled over his shoulder as his hand settled on the knob of the front door.

“Wait!” Kakashi yelped.

“Hm?” He turned to his son, just in time for a bundle of messy silver hair and black clothes to come hurtling into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. His arms folded around him automatically.

“I’ll miss you,” Kakashi murmured.

Sakumo’s heart beat painfully in his chest. Half a year they'd been without her. They had reached a point where they were comfortable with each other despite the gaping hole in their lives. And yet, the affection was always unspoken, hovering between them like a fog, equally as difficult to navigate. Sakumo understood; with Natsuki, it had been much the same. He had never been particularly good at voicing his love, preferring to show it instead. With Kakashi, that meant eating together, training together, and being there at the beginning and end of his school day. He couldn’t recall the last time either of them had said ‘I love you’ or anything of the sort. To hear it now was a benediction.

He vowed not to let another day pass without fixing that mistake. “I’ll miss you, too, Kashi. I love you, you know.”

The boy’s head nodded. “Yeah, I know. Be careful.”

Perhaps Kakashi wasn’t ready for that much yet. It would have to be enough for now. “Yeah, I will,” he promised, releasing his son. He ruffled the boy’s hair one more time. This time, he didn’t complain, but his eyes belied the smile that hid beneath the mask. “See ya.”

“Bye, Dad.”

* * *

 

It was freezing outside. Immediately, he wished he wasn’t going off on a mission. It was the perfect kind of night to order Chinese takeout and help Kakashi with his homework. Both of them silently understood that he didn’t need the help--not in the slightest, for his son was absolutely brilliant--but that they both needed the contact regardless.

Nonetheless, border patrol was an important part of Konoha’s protection, and every Shinobi was expected to take their turn in the rotation. It just so happened that it was his turn. Besides, it would be a good first mission for the two newly minted jounin, Isamu and Minoru, the Brothers Hanta. They were a pair of good lads, less than a year apart, who had risen through the ranks of Shinobi based on their perfect combination attacks and impeccable teamwork. Much was expected of them, for they showed marvelous potential as Shinobi.

He glared at Fugaku, standing perfectly at ease as his breath billowed in the chilly winter air while the Brothers Hanta huddled together shivering. They were dressed in autumn clothes only, without their regulation winter cloaks. They lacked valuable experience, for certain. Maybe they'd been promoted a touch too quickly. “Where are your cloaks?” he asked them tiredly.

“It doesn’t usually get this cold in Konoha,” Isamu grumbled, rubbing his arms.

Minoru nodded vigorously, agreeing. He stared at Sakumo wide-eyed, clearly embarrassed. “We realized that on our way here, Sakumo-taichou, but didn’t want to be late.”

Sakumo glanced sidelong at Fugaku, who merely shrugged with the ghost of a smile. Sakumo paralyzed both of them with his best fatherly stare, practiced on an exceptionally difficult Kakashi. The two shrank away from his dark expression. All to the good. “The weather might be temperate in Konoha,” he lectured, “but the border of Konoha ranges far out in every direction. You need to be prepared for any weather. And a moment’s ear burning is worth a full mission of not dying of exposure, wouldn't you agree?” he added, crossing his arms and trying to look imposing. The boys wilted under his scrutiny. “Go get you cloaks. We’ll wait here.”

“Won’t you get cold waiting?” Isamu asked hesitantly.

Beside him, Fugaku scoffed with disgust. “No, we won’t, because _we_ came prepared.”

“Go on,” Sakumo urged, more gently this time. “Just be quick.”

As the Brothers Hanta hurried back home to gather their proper supplies, Sakumo watched them go. There had been a time when he and Natsuki had planned on having more children. Given another year or so, Kakashi might have had a brother, too. _Never to be._

“If I ever do have kids, I hope they aren’t like those two,” Fugaku mumbled, as if to himself. Sakumo and Fugaku stared at each other as soon as the brothers were out of sight. “I would have just let them freeze,” Fugaku told him seriously, not batting an eyelash.

He would have, too. Fugaku was not very forgiving. “To what purpose?” Sakumo argued. “Either they’d die of exposure or they’d drag us down.”

Fugaku hitched one shoulder indifferently. “They wouldn’t have forgotten their cloaks again.”

“Tch. You’re too cold-hearted, Fugaku. They’re just kids, after all.”

“They’re jounin now,” Fugaku retorted with a somber frown. “You want _kids_ guarding your back when we’re surrounded, or shinobi? You’re too soft.”

“Lighten up, Fu. Are you really going to get bent out of shape because they forgot their jackets? They _did_ say they were worried about being on time.”

Fugaku raised one eyebrow. “Really, Sakumo. You bought that excuse?”

Sakumo chose to ignore him and changed the subject. “Are you going to tell me about the girl you’ve been courting? Or am I going to have to get the details out of Kushina?” He beamed, imagining all the ways that scene could play out.

Fugaku’s frown deepened. “That’s really none of your business, Hatake,” he replied darkly, though his posture noticeably relaxed.

Sakumo took it as a positive response, and laughed. Uzumaki Kushina had a short fuse, but her fuse was equally short when it came to keeping in secrets. If he could just get her talking, she refused to shut up. Fugaku knew very well that if Sakumo went poking at Kushina for answers regarding his love life, Sakumo might get more than he bargained for.

Fugaku was not stupid, so he chose instead to give up some of the details every time Sakumo threatened him with Kushina’s special abilities. “Her name is Mikoto,” he said through clenched teeth. “And nothing’s official, Sakumo,” he added hastily. “The Uchiha are deeply traditional, unlike most clans, like yours. Love matches are rarely honored.”

“Ooh, _love_ , is it? She’s an Uchiha, though, right? So, surely your council would make an exception?”

Fugaku smiled before he could help himself, but it slipped right back into his usual frown in an instant. “Exceptions can be made in cases where the intended is an Uchiha,” he admitted slowly. “But enough of this. What I do in my personal time is none of your business. How’s the brat?”

“Kakashi?” he asked, surprised by the question. Fugaku rarely asked him questions about his home life. It was part of that personal boundaries thing. Sakumo was more than happy to talk about Kakashi, though. He grinned. “Just like his old man!” he proclaimed proudly. “Smart, serious, and all set to graduate early!” He puffed up with pride, smiling like an idiot.

“Not so like his old man, then,” Fugaku drawled wryly. “If I recall, you were held back a year. Your wife, on the other hand… didn’t she graduate three years early?”

Mention of Natsuki snapped Sakumo back to the realm of the serious. All of his good humor fled. “That’s really not any of your business,” he sniped back.

If Fugaku was bothered by Sakumo’s sudden change in attitude, though, he didn’t seem it. He shrugged with a “hn” and resumed his quiet, relaxed waiting.

Before too long, the Brothers Hanta reappeared, swathed in warmer clothing and smiling sheepishly. Fugaku looked down his nose at them, expression severe. “Thank Sakumo-taichou for going easy on you,” he demanded of them. “If it were up to me, you’d have frozen out there. Dying on border patrol is just the kind of undignified ending sloppy shinobi deserve.” Unapologetic and harsh… that was Fugaku’s way.

And yet, Sakumo noted with appreciation, his way _did_ yield results. Fugaku had churned out a couple of genin teams of his own. From what Sakumo could tell, the poor kids had scrambled all over themselves to try to impress their stoic jounin leader. Fugaku no longer maintained a personal relationship with any of them, but he was well respected as a superior nonetheless. Sakumo and Fugaku were so different--and yet so similar--in many ways. _Maybe that's why we make such a good team,_ he mused inwardly.

Because of the colder weather, Sakumo led them southward first, hoping to catch a clement breeze from the warmer climates of the south. It wasn’t a bad idea, but the wind didn't agree with his logic. The cold weather nipped at their heels all the way to their first camping point. The moment they stopped, Fugaku built a fire and Sakumo directed the boys to take their cloaks off to dry.

They immediately started complaining. “Sakumo-taichou,” Isamu gasped. “It’s freezing! Can’t we keep them on?”

Sakumo shook his head slowly. “We’ve been walking in our cloaks all day. They’re permeated with sweat now. If we don’t take them off and let them dry, they’ll soak through. Then you really _will_ freeze to death.”

“Amateurs,” Fugaku grumbled under his breath as he stoked the fire.

“We just have to sit really close to the fire until they are dry,” Sakumo continued.

The Brothers Hanta exchanged a worried look. Isamu looked like he was going to be ill.

“What?” Sakumo prodded.

“It’s nothing,” Minoru replied hastily.

Too hastily. Sakumo gave them The Look. Isamu looked away uncomfortably, and Minoru matched him glare for glare, but neither of them were willing to offer up any more details.

“It’s okay,” Isamu said shakily, shedding his cloak and hanging it on the branch next to Sakumo’s. “I’ll just grab a quick snack and go to sleep now. Wake me up when it’s my turn for watch duty, okay?” Minoru’s answer was a curt nod. Isamu unrolled his blanket and curled himself up within it. Before long, his presence was more or less forgotten.

Nonetheless, Sakumo filed away a mental note to figure out what all the fuss was about. He’d try to find out for sure what had made the Brothers Hanta so profoundly uncomfortable, but for right now, he was tired and only wanted to be lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts like how the last night Natsuki had fallen asleep, it was around a fire with her teammates. Or like how Kakashi was at home by himself right now. Or how they might have been expecting another Hatake in the family soon, or how life would have been different if she’d have never died.

Except that she had. And Kakashi was now more or less a man at five years old. And Sakumo was doing his best, but it never felt like enough.

He could almost see his son sitting at the fire across from him, one eyebrow raised. _Seriously, Dad?_ He felt chastised for paying more attention to the leaping flames than the sounds of the forest around him. _Kakashi_ wouldn’t have slipped so; _Kakashi_ would have been on high alert. His son was the perfect ninja, and Sakumo was the only man in his life that he had to admire. He took a deep breath and trained his ears on the surrounding night air, eyes shut against the too-bright lights of the dancing flames. Alert, he focused his attention on any possible ambush, anything amiss.

He would be worthy of that admiration. If it killed him, he would be.

  
  
  



	9. Waiting for a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> Waiting on a Friend by The Pretty reckless
> 
>  https://youtu.be/B8-AA8N5KTk
> 
> Sorry it's been a while since I last updated. So much to do and not enough time to do it! But, on with the show!!

He missed his dad. There was just no point denying it. He wasn’t entirely sure when it was that they had become so...comfortable... with each other’s company. They had become very close, bonding in the way that only a father and son could. He would never take his mother’s place, but Sakumo had certainly stepped up and filled his role as father. Their relationship was constantly changing, evolving into something infinitely more precious than either of them might have ever imagined. Every day, they forged new connections and created new cherished memories. As a result, when they were apart, Kakashi found himself thinking about and missing his dad more than ever before. So while his father was away and he felt inexplicably lonely, Kakashi looked fondly back on those memories.

He missed coming home to the smell of freshly charred food and overcooked sweet puddings that could glue teeth together in less than three seconds. He missed their conversations and his father’s raucous laughter that filled the house with loud merriment. When he came home from a long day at the academy, he wished for nothing more than to get comfortable on the couch next to his dad.

Most of all, he missed their Icha Icha evening ritual, as his father called it. His father would read a chapter of their favorite books and re-enact some of the scenes. Sakumo became so immersed in the telling of the story, his voice would waver from high to low depending on the character. The more he got into the characters, the more he unconsciously made faces which, when combined with the voices, made for a scene of delightful amusement. He would become increasingly animated, getting to his feet and demonstrating the scene to the best of his terrible acting abilities. His transition from male to female when required was flawless; he had developed a true talent in switching places and roles quickly. When it came to the parts that were quite unsuitable for a child, Sakumo would quickly turn the entire scene into one of comedic brilliance that would see Kakashi clapping his hands while grinning behind his mask. His dad was a great performer, Kakashi thought. And although the books themselves were becoming dog eared and worn with use, Kakashi wouldn’t allow his father to replace them. They were, after all, physical ties that cemented their close bond; irreplaceable and very much loved.

Some nights, the house just seemed too big and empty without Sakumo, and all Kakashi longed for was the very thing that he had long convinced himself he didn’t need: the company of another. Kakashi was more than accustomed to being alone, but by allowing his father and the two idiots from school to get past his barriers, he found his solitude less than favorable now. This was especially evident at night when the house would creak noisily in the otherwise silent darkness. That in itself did not bother him, but when he awoke screaming in the darkness, surrounded by weird noises, it was terrifying. Kakashi had also begun to experience terrible, recurrent nightmares. He was often ripped from nightmares into mute blackness with the inability to breathe.

_Night terrors._ That was what his father called it. The term itself embarrassed and frustrated Kakashi. He was well aware of the fact that he was unable to control his sleeping mind, but he sorely wished that he could. The single, repeating dream, made him feel weak and foolish. What made it worse was the fact that the dream itself was relatively benign in nature, for no demons or monsters lurked within. It was almost like a simple memory, only skewed and twisted enough as to horrify. It started with a simple vision of his mother, her face beautiful and loving, her voice calling his name. Then suddenly his father would be kneeling in front of him, gripping Kakashi’s arms painfully. Sakumo would start shouting “Where is your mother?!” as Kakashi watched his mother’s lovely face decay in front of his eyes until little was left but a skull draped with dry skin, framed with brittle hair that turned gray as it twisted in an unfelt breeze.

Some nights, the nightmare would repeat throughout the night and he would only wake, sweat drenched and screaming, when his father gently woke him. It was an inherently dangerous thing to wake a sleeping Shinobi, even more so one that perceived himself as being under some kind of attack. On more than one occasion, Sakumo had to defend himself against the terror fueled attack of his half conscious son. Sakumo would smooth Kakashi’s hair and hold him and offer whispered apologies for his part in those terrible nightmares. It was always on the nights that Kakashi experienced the terrors that he yearned for his father the most. He wanted only for his strong arms to pull him into a tight embrace and tell him everything was alright, or to feel his cool hand smooth the damp hair from his brow. When had he first come to appreciate his father in this way? He couldn’t remember if it was in the throes of a nightmare or while he taught him things, like how to read. But then, it really didn’t matter. The important thing was that he now had someone in his life who would protect and love him, and he was glad.

He was also glad for the other developing relationships. While far from perfect and not nearly as important as his father's, he had come to appreciate them nonetheless.

Obito -the one person who knew how to instantly irritate Kakashi to the point of furious frustration- was slowly edging his way into Kakashi’s heart. The lively boy could make Kakashi laugh, simply by pulling a funny face, and would often do so in the middle of a lesson. This, of course, earned them both a telling off for laughing during class. On one occasion, he even managed to get Kakashi his first break time detention. Ever since their initial awkward interaction, they had become friends. Of a sort. It had puzzled Kakashi as to why Obito had tried to engage in conversation before Kakashi chased him away. It turned out that although the lad was proud of his heritage, he also sometimes hated the fact he was Uchiha. It was the reason that before Kakashi befriended him, Obito would often sit alone. That changed when they became friends as Obito asked if he could be his desk partner and seemed positively thrilled when Kakashi had eventually agreed.   
It might have been desperation on the young Uchiha’s part, born from the loneliness of being Uchiha surrounded by Senju, that made him attempt to forge their new friendship. The way Kakashi saw it, that only strengthened the boy’s integrity. He had become a loyal friend and had started to change Kakashi’s outlook on life. There were still days in which Kakashi wanted to be alone, and on these days, Obito did not force him to interact. This was another reason why Kakashi had allowed the friendship--he didn’t have to be something he wasn’t, didn’t ever feel compelled to act differently from what he normally would. Obito accepted Kakashi as he was and he never once tried to change him.

His other friendship was quite different. Maito Gai, the strange looking, overly enthusiastic boy who took intended jibes as compliments, had become Kakashi’s source of solace. Gai was a deep thinker, a quiet intelligence hidden behind a front of idiotic displays of sheer exuberance. His feelings ran deeper than most and this made him attentive to the emotional needs of others. During the times that Kakashi wished to be alone, it was Gai that he sometimes sought out, even if it was simply to sit quietly beside him as he lost himself in his own thoughts. Gai never pushed an issue nor pressured him to open up, and Kakashi appreciated this most of all. When he did feel like talking, Gai was the perfect, attentive listener, never interrupting until Kakashi had either finished talking or could say no more. It was through Gai that he learned to accept his mother’s death and begin to move on. It was because of Gai’s love for life that Kakashi had learned to live again. He was sure that he would never be able to repay Gai for all that he had done for him, but the boy with the thick eyebrows had simply said that his true friendship was payment enough.

But there was one other who had began to nudge her way in, knocking tentatively on his heart. Nohara Rin was the girl that Obito had fallen in love with. She was quiet and unassuming, intelligent and caring. She had the knack of saying the right thing at the right time and would do anything to help anyone in need. She had a lovely face with gentle features, accentuated by the purple rectangles just below her cheeks. Her dark glossy hair framed her face perfectly and while she was regarded as one of the prettiest girls in the class, she just didn’t interest Kakashi. Well, not at first. It was strange, but Kakashi had not really noticed her until Obito pointed her out.

“Oh GODS! There she is! She’s looking at me! Is she looking at me?! Tell me. DON’T LOOK! Wait, look. But only with your eyes. In fact pretend you are looking at the clock. NOT THAT CLOCK!! Oh GODS she will know I am talking about her!”

Kakashi had found it highly amusing when, a few minutes later, Rin had approached them to say hello and Obito had flushed so red he thought his goggles might melt on his face.

“You might have told me she was coming over,” Obito had hissed in a whisper, but Kakashi had only laughed.

For the most part, Kakashi said very little to Rin at first. It wasn’t because Obito always tried to grab and hold her attention, it was simply because he wasn’t interested in gaining another friend. Especially a female one. He did like her; there wasn’t much not to like about her. But he refused to go down the road of letting another woman into his heart. While he had absolutely no intention of becoming her friend, Kakashi did not mistake the looks she gave him and the intentions behind them. He saw she liked him, but it did not change his mind. That was, until he had hurt himself during training class one day.

It had been a miscalculation, caused by the fumbling clumsiness of his partner, Obito. When he should have turned left, he turned right into Kakashi’s path. While Kakashi was sure he could avoid him, he took his eye from the attacker for an instant and paid the price by with slicing pain from a shuriken as it whizzed past him. He had stared angrily at Obito while he held his hand to his bleeding shoulder, furious that the lad’s bungling mistake had caused him to botch the otherwise easy maneuver.

Sitting down on the bench, he watched the next teams go head to head, completely ignoring Obito who sat quietly and sullen beside him. Rin had walked over, holding a med kit that she had taken from its place on the wall.

“It’s fine, leave it,” Kakashi had grumbled, but Rin was having none of it and carried on anyway.

Her touch had been light and gentle, cleansing the wound and covering it. Her fingers lingered far longer than they should have once she had taped the dressing down and Kakashi had looked up from his angry thoughts to stare straight into her bright eyes. That was when he first lost his breath and while he managed to keep his shock to himself, he was sure that Rin had noticed the widening of his eyes as he looked at her. She smiled and tweaked his cheek before lifting the med kit to return it to its place, and he had watched her as she skipped across the room.

“Wish I’d got hurt now,” Obito mumbled as he, too, watched her leave.

Despite the fact he had felt a tug of longing, Kakashi would never entertain Rin on that level, simply because Obito loved her. A relationship with the girl was so far out of the question he wouldn’t even consider it. But, he could be her friend.

So it was that the self proclaimed loner, Hatake Kakashi, found himself with three very good friends and a loving father. And while they might cause him trouble and occasionally unintentionally hurt him, he wouldn’t have it any other way. For now that he had found them, he would be loath to lose them. With the help of the four of them, Kakashi had learned that it was okay to have important people in his life. He also learned that it was fine to have moments of solitude, so long as it wasn’t a permanent state of mind. He was still scared to have people so close to him, terrified that he might regret that decision when one of them left him behind and broke his heart anew. But for the first time in his life, Kakashi had friends and it felt… good. He wasn’t quite at the point that he would take down his mask. His mask would remain, a final barrier that would stand between himself and others, as a reminder that not everything lasts forever. He had allowed four people in, yes, but he would not allow any more than that. It was enough of a responsibility to care for and love these four without adding more. And love them he did, as they were now all etched, permanently on his heart.


	10. If I Ever Leave This World Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "If I Ever Leave This World Alive"  
> Flogging Molly  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AOp9c5DRzc

* * *

“We’ll be back in Konoha by tomorrow,” Minoru hedged. “Do you think we might just relax tonight?” He shifted nervously on his feet.

“Eh?” Sakumo halted on the road leaving Oashisu, turning to regard his comrades. The small town of Oashisu was the last stop before home, so the four Shinobi had stopped on the way through to restock on food and supplies.

“Would it be against code if we just hung out here for the night?” Isamu asked hesitantly.

“Sakumo-taichou,” Fugaku prompted, turning to the captain. “It seems to me that your subordinates are asking for permission to indulge the three Shinobi vices. What are you going to do?”

“It’s not like that!” Minoru hurried to explain, wringing his hands. “It’s just that we’ve all been on the road for so long! If we go back to Konoha now, we’re going to be put right back on the duty roster. Wouldn’t it be nice just to relax, have a hot meal, and exchange stories?” His eyes widened with hope as he glanced between his two elders.

Sakumo wavered, looking between the stern and disapproving face of Fugaku and the bright and hopeful faces of the two teens. Their sense of adventure was at its peak, and this mission had been a gruelling test of endurance without much excitement. The weather had been bitterly cold and there had been little incident on the road; not enough glory for two fresh faced jounin. Perhaps a warm bed and a hot meal wouldn’t be too far amiss. Despite all that, though, Kakashi was still back at home waiting, and Sakumo was eager to be home. He was too old to care about glory and adventure. All he wanted was his life back; everything related to the word ‘home’ had become exceedingly precious. “No, I think we should press on,” he started to say.

“Come now, Sakumo-taichou,” Fugaku purred with a sneer. “Surely you won’t deny them a bit of fun, just this once?”

Sakumo stared at him, wondering if Fugaku merely delighted in disagreeing with him no matter what the man’s true feelings. And so, amidst choruses of “Oh, please, Sakumo-taichou!” he found himself relenting, then being dragged into a nearby tavern, staring at a tankard of cold and frothy beer, surrounded by three grinning jounin. Fugaku looked quite pleased with himself, at least. Sneaky devil. Sakumo entertained the thought that it was all a ploy to simultaneously undermine his position as captain while unwinding a little before having to go toe to toe with the Uchiha council regarding his would-be bride. Or, perhaps Fugaku merely wished to have one last hurrah before lashing himself down with a wife. The clan was famous for hot tempers and a prickly sense of tradition, after all.

Whatever it was, the situation was cast already. He was in a tavern, and the other three were certainly planning to enjoy themselves. That realization only served to increase his sense of responsibility, though. If they were going to lose themselves to drink and revelry, someone needed to be sober and mature.

Besides, he thought, staring into the pleasantly fizzing head on the beer, the last time he’d partaken in alcohol, the results had nearly cost him a son. “You want this?” he asked Minoru, who was seated immediately across from him. “I don’t drink.” He pushed the cup in Minoru’s direction, pointedly ignoring Fugaku’s muted look of surprise as Minoru gratefully accepted. The two brothers were chatting excitedly about who was going to be the greater Shinobi, each proclaiming wild challenges that they would have to face on their quests to become Hokage.

Fugaku was sipping his beer conservatively, staring at Sakumo as if seeing him for the first time. When it became obvious that the Brothers Hanta were lost to their own conversation, Fugaku leaned over from beside him. “You don’t drink?” he asked suspiciously, unconvinced.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Uchiha Fugaku and Hatake Sakumo had been accidental drinking buddies. It seemed the two of them were destined to keep falling into group projects together, and drinking had been the same. Fugaku was continuously stressed about his responsibilities as the heir to the Uchiha clan. As he grew older, nearing the end of the appropriate marriageable age, Fugaku clung more desperately to his youth, doing the last of his rule breaking before he’d be forced to be the best role model for his clan and his future sons. Soon, too, he’d probably be part of the police force; it was all but expected of any prominent Uchiha. Captain, probably. He’d never again be allowed to touch alcohol or any woman who was not his wife. Sakumo could almost pity him for it, that his life was eventually going to be dictated by rules not his own. Fugaku was not allowed to be the man he wanted to be. He would always have to be what was expected of him.

Sakumo had been depressed about the loss of his wife. Almost overnight, Hatake Sakumo had become the local bar’s best customer, and Fugaku often joined him there. Grudgingly, they’d become something kind of like friends. The two of them drowned many sorrows in the depths of their cups, but sorrows were like zombies and refused to stay dead. Fugaku asked him this question now because Fugaku had seen him blitzed out of his mind; he knew better. Sakumo had found his solace at the bottom of many a tankard of ale, just like this one. He wasn’t proud of it, not after last time. Sakumo looked away uncomfortably, remembering, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on laced fingers. “Not anymore,” he said softly. “And not ever again.”

Sakumo contented himself with watching the people of the tavern this time instead of joining them. Whereas before, Sakumo would be amongst the most intoxicated, this time he was the most sober. Probably more so even than the staff, whom he noted with amusement were partaking behind the bar when they thought the owner wasn’t looking. He smiled sadly as he watched the people moving about the establishment in various states of inebriation. It was kind of funny when you weren’t one of them, he thought to himself.

The sun set without incident, and patrons came and went. Team Sakumo remained at their table, and several mugs of beer were emptied by his comrades. Across from him at the table, Isamu and Minoru had passed out. Isamu’s chin had merely tipped into his chest, but Minoru had planted his face upon the table, fingers splayed out upon the wooden grain, a widening puddle of drool mapping rivers across the tabletop. Beside him, though, Fugaku was nearly as sober as he was himself. When he noticed that Sakumo was looking at him, he smirked. “Surprised? You’re not the only one with self control, Sakumo.”

Sakumo returned the smile, grateful that he wasn’t alone. “Not surprised, no. Not really.” He sank back in the booth, stretching his legs out between Isamu’s. The booths were small, and his muscles were aching from the hard wooden seats. “We both know that you’re more composed than I am. What do you think of them?” he asked, meaning the Brothers Hanta.

Fugaku settled back in the booth as well, crossing his arms over his chest. His usual severe frown softened. “Jounin they might be, but they’re still little more than children,” he replied at last. “Experience might change that.” He huffed a short laugh. “A lot of experience. They’re impatient and short-sighted. But they are strong and obedient. The rules are important to them. They have qualities that we can work with, but they need a lot of work. A lot of work.”

“I agree,” Sakumo said with a nod. “I think we’ll need to keep this team together for a while. You and I have already begun to have an impact upon them.”

It was true. Being around Fugaku had sobered the Brothers Hanta and made them more attentive. They paid closer attention and pushed themselves to see the reason behind every action. Even if it was just to keep Fugaku’s ire at bay, it was working. They were calmer and more serious, more mature after just a couple of months in his presence. Sakumo knew better than anyone that forced association with the Uchiha heir in close proximity caused a subconscious change in personality. Jokes weren’t as funny around Fugaku. Awareness of the Shinobi Doctrine was much more pronounced. On the other hand, being around Sakumo had given the Brothers Hanta a modicum of hope as well. If they were scared of Fugaku, it could be said that they looked up to Sakumo. He followed the rules, but he was also easygoing and friendly, as well as strong and respectable. Insofar as they could keep Fugaku happy, they were trying to emulate Sakumo, that much was obvious.

Fugaku sighed dramatically, shifting his feet beneath the table for a more comfortable position. “If I wanted another genin team, I’d have asked for one,” he grumbled. “Who trained up these brats anyway?”

Sakumo thought about it, trying to remember which jounin had been responsible for the Brothers Hanta. “I can’t recall.”

He snorted derisively. “That says everything. Somehow, these two graduated and shouldn’t have,” he observed with dismay. “And it’s apparently up to you and I to make them jounin level Shinobi.” Sakumo grinned at him mischievously. He blinked. “Hm? What? Why are you giving me that look?”

Sakumo laughed quietly so as not to wake the Brothers Hanta. “It will be good practice for when you have your own kids,” Sakumo chuckled from behind one hand.

Fugaku’s frown deepened further. “Don’t get any ideas, Sakumo. For the last time, I’m not having any kids.”

“You say that now,” Sakumo sniggered. “What does Mikoto think about that?”

Fugaku’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Mikoto thinks what I want her to think,” he snarled. “That’s how it works in the Uchiha clan.”

Sakumo laughed uproariously, threatening to wake the sleeping jounin across from him. He laughed so hard his belly hurt, and his hands jumped to his middle to try to soothe the pain. Fugaku glowered, expression darkening the longer the laughter continued. “What’s so funny, White Fang?” he asked quietly.

Tears were rolling down his face as he guffawed. Finally, he managed to contain his laughter, but as he spoke his voice jumped as errant chuckles escaped. “You clearly know nothing about women,” he explained, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Mikoto wants children. She’s a woman. She looks at you and sees her handsome future babies in your eyes, red Sharingan and all. She’ll flutter her lashes and bump against you and whisper it into your ear as you dream. Before long, you’ll be saying that you do want children, have wanted them all along, and she’ll have you convinced that it’s been your idea this whole time. Next thing you know, you’ll be up to your eyeballs in diapers and awestruck at how happy a man can be sitting in a haze of the most foul shit known to man. Congratulations! You’re going to be a father. You just don’t know it yet.” He winked.

Fugaku was staring daggers into his singular, empty mug. “You know, I think I’m ready to turn in for the night,” he declared suddenly, sliding off the bench. I’ll carry up Minoru if you grab Isamu. You coming?”

Sakumo stared at him, trying to appear sympathetic. “I want a moment to myself, so I think I’ll stay down here for a little longer,” Sakumo said to him. “I’ll be up later.” He jerked a thumb in Isamu’s direction. “I’ll carry him up, too.”

Soon after he had gone, a shadow crossed his table. He looked up into the pretty green eyes of a young woman. She was smiling down upon him, both shoulders bare. “I thought your scowling friend would never leave,” she drawled huskily. “I was beginning to think he wanted you more than I did.”

Every nerve ending fired at once, telling him to flee. He knew what she was here for; it was hardly the first time someone wanted to breed the White Fang. Eyes narrowed even as his back straightened. “I’m not interested,” he stated flatly with a shake of his head.

She pouted. “You don’t even know why I’m here,” she murmured.

“Yes, I do,” he grated. “And I’m definitely not interested.”

She sat down beside him anyway. His shoulders tensed. He glanced over at Isamu, hoping the boy would wake up. It would give him an excuse to get out of there. “I’m Takara,” she introduced, even if he didn’t care.

He said as much. “I don’t care who you are or what you want. Your presence is unwelcome. I’m a married man and I have a son, and I’m on duty besides.”

She squealed with delight and clapped her hands together. “Ohhh I didn’t know you had a son! I’ve always wanted a son.” She smiled again as if the other things he’d mentioned didn’t matter.

Sakumo was really losing his patience. “Yes,” he bit out. “A son. A wife. A mission. A desire for you to leave.” He stood, planting firm hands upon the table.

She reached out with delicate fingers to stroke the back of his closest hand. He snatched it away as if burned and shook her hand off, flinching from the unwanted contact. He glared down at her with eyes full of contempt, but her cold green eyes held no pity nor remorse. “Your wife is dead, White Fang. Everyone knows. Time to move on, don’t you think?”

“She’s not dead to me,” he replied icily. With that, he hauled up Isamu out of his chair, the boy groaning as he was disturbed, and tromped upstairs to their room.


	11. Lonely Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "Lonely Day"  
> System of a Down.
> 
> https://youtu.be/DnGdoEa1tPg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with us! I know updates are sporadic at best, but Duchess and I are currently working on our original works for publishing. We have not forgotten the Sins of the Father, it's just having the time to get it uploaded! I hope you understand and continue to enjoy this sorry tale!

Kakashi dreamed of his father. But, Sakumo did not look as he did usually. He was so thin, looked almost like a corpse. His skin was pale, translucent. His eyes were cold and dead. He held onto Kakashi’s forearms with cold hands that squeezed too tightly and ragged fingernails scratched his skin. Bright red blood soaked the chest area of his father’s otherwise pristine flak vest. It grew at an alarming rate. Kakashi struggled in the tight grip, his eyes unable to tear from the spreading bloodstain. He managed to break free and raised his hand to hide the horror that was his father. Then, the room became illuminated by an eerie blue light that burst from the same hand. It created a strobe light effect in the room that made it look as if his father’s frail body was dancing. Kakashi felt himself become weaker. He screamed in terror.

He jolted from the nightmare with the scream dying in his throat. He gasped down burning breaths as he stared at the space his father had stood in the dream. But the doorway was empty, as was the rest of the house. In the past week Kakashi had been suffering the same nightmare, sometimes more than once a night. The terrors had changed from something childish and meaningless to something that filled him with dread and fear. To see his father in such a state, clearly dead or at least dying, was enough to chill Kakashi to the core.

And the strange lightning that burst from his hand during the night terror occasionally lingered after he had woken. Whenever the manifested in his dream, it always left him weary and drained when he woke. As if he had not slept at all. This told him that whatever the lightning was, it was real and not just a part of his fevered dreams. It always sparked to life at the peak of a nightmare, when he was the most scared. He tried in his waking hours to recreate the same state of mind in attempts to trigger the bizarre phenomenon. So far he had been unsuccessful.

He knew, of course, why the nightmares were increasing in frequency. It was a year since the illness claimed his mother’s life. This, and the fact his father had been gone for nearly a month, left Kakashi in a constant state of fear. There was no news of his father’s team returning or why they were a week overdue. Not for the first time, Kakashi wondered if he was now one of Konoha’s many orphans. It came with the territory of living the ninja way. Families were often torn apart by death and left children to grieve and grow on their own. He would not be the first and undoubtedly would not be the last, but the thought of losing his father was presently too much for Kakashi to handle.

It was beginning to feel like everyone he valued left him. Kakashi often wondered if he was some sort of jinx or if this was cosmic retaliation for his daring to be born. Perhaps it even stemmed from his many recent misdemeanors. He had gotten into a lot of fights at school, mainly with the exasperating Obito, and Kakashi began to regret befriending the Uchiha. But Kakashi was hopeful that a few small fights were not enough to damn the fate of a child.

Kakashi refused to look at people these days. This and the fact he had become so unruly was down to one single factor: his father was missing, presumed dead. Well, in Kakashi’s head anyway. He refused to look because he began to see pity in people’s eyes again, the same pity he witnessed in the weeks following the death of his mother. He hated it. Pity only confirmed his suspicions. He was now alone in this world.

Perhaps this was why he acted out. Maybe that was why he could not and would not keep his mouth shut or his fists in his pockets when someone challenged him or when Obito annoyed him. His grades were not suffering, but the tolerance of others was waning, and so was his patience with everyone around him.

There was no school today. Kakashi was glad because he just wanted to be alone. Today marked his mother’s anniversary and Kakashi had little but anger and fear boiling within him. After breakfast, he decided to climb his tree and let the day pass him by. He packed a small bag with snacks and a carton of milk. He slipped a copy of his favourite Icha Icha in a side pocket then locked the door and left.

He sat on his branch and listened to the noises of the village as the sun warmed him. There were voices and laughter... but it seemed wrong to Kakashi. On a day such as this, no one should be so happy. He sagged against the trunk and sighed. A year. She had been gone a year. Kakashi could scarcely believe it. Even now he sometimes thought he heard his mother’s laughter or her voice, especially when it was quiet or he was on the verge of sleep. Though the pain of losing her had lessened, the pain of her loss was eternal. But it felt so much worse today, increased by the absence of his father.

Lost in his thoughts, it took a few moments for Kakashi to register that Maito Dai and his son were walking up the main street. Their loud, raucous laughter broke through his melancholy and set his teeth on edge. He knew exactly where they were heading. They came to his house at the same time every non-school day. They were following his father’s request to check in on Kakashi while he was away. It was nice of them and appreciated, but as Kakashi watched the pair cheerfully knock the house door, he felt even more sad and alone.

Dai and Gai had a great relationship. It was the kind that most kids dreamed of having with a parent. Kakashi felt that he and his father possessed such a relationship. Or at least did. But the days passed and Kakashi became more sure that his father was never going to return. That amazing relationship... was lost.The thought stopped Kakashi from jumping down and greeting the Maito’s. He did not want to see the pity in their eyes as he was sure they thought the same as he: that his father was dead. So Kakashi sat there and listened as father and son mused over where he was.

“I am sure he is just out, Gai, embracing this beautiful day with all the exuberance of youth!”  Dai said, messing his son's hair.

“I hope Kakashi knows that we were here for him today.” Gai said, dropping his head and shaking it sadly. “It isn’t the kind of day to be alone or think that you are alone.”

As the pair turned to leave the yard, Dai looked up towards the tree in which Kakashi sat, and their eyes met.

“I’m sure he will know you were here for him Gai. And I am sure he appreciates it.”

Before Dai looked back towards his son, he smiled a knowing smile towards Kakashi. Too stunned to make any kind of reaction, Kakashi simply watched as the two then made their way back onto the main street and off into the distance. He felt a new admiration and respect for Dai and a deeper appreciation of Gai's friendship. But their visit, such as it was, did little to make him feel better. In fact, their cheerful closeness only made him feel worse. He began to drown in a sorrow that choked him in waves of self pity and despair. Kakashi found himself asking himself the very question he had been forcing from his mind; what if his father really was dead?

His mind reeled against the thought and soon his despair threatened to consume him. His breath came in short sharp gasps as he accepted that he really was now alone in this world. He felt a tightness in his chest that he clawed at it with a shaking hand as his breathing worsened. What was he to do without that bright guiding light his father had become to him? That beacon of love and hope that had unfrozen his heart and given him a reason to smile again?

The tightness in his chest increased; he was hyperventilating. His eyes rolled back in their sockets as his mind dimmed. Kakashi forced himself to calm down, metered his breathing as he closed his eyes against the dizziness. He hated the fact his emotions had gotten the better of him. The tightness eventually eased. His mind cleared. But while he felt better, anger and self loathing crowded his thoughts.

Kakashi began to pound his fists against the branch on which he sat. He took his frustration and anger out on the strong rough wood amid small broken cries of distress and pain. Not until the rough bark had broken his skin and he saw his blood smearing the gnarled wood, did he stop and whimper softly. A year ago he had sat here and promised that he would never again shed another tear. But the pain of accepting he might have lost his father reopened the deep wound in his heart caused by the death of his mother. He could not hold back the torrent of bitter tears that spilled unchecked from his eyes. Kakashi wept for his loss until his eyes were sore and dry and he could cry no longer.

Heartbroken and bitter, Kakashi became agitated. He was no longer content to sit in the tree and his anger grew until it saturated his mind. He reached for his bag, threw it over his shoulder and leapt from the branch. He plummeted towards the ground before twisting in the air to kick and bounce off the tree trunk. It slowed his descent and changed his trajectory so that when he landed on his feet, he was already running. Speeding through the woodland, he had no idea where he was going. His mind was clouded with a grief fueled darkness. His clothes caught on branches that also tore his skin and pulled his hair. His heart hammered in his chest as he powered through trees and shadowed undergrowth. Lungs and muscles burned from the exertion, but it was nothing compared to the pain from the hole in Kakashi’s heart.The only thing of substance that went through his mind was a desperate need to run, for perhaps if he ran fast enough, he could leave the pain behind.

He burst from the trees into a circular clearing within the woods, stumbled to a halt at the edge of a fast moving river. Kakashi caught his breath as he stared at the rapid water and felt the building urge to jump into its wet coolness and be swept away. He wished the water would take away his pain and grief. But it wouldn’t. Nothing could. So he sat down by the edge of the river and opened his bag.

He pulled out his Icha Icha and smiled sadly as he ran his fingers over the worn cover. Then, he opened it to his favourite chapter. As the sun beat down on his shoulders, Kakashi lost himself--not only in the story, but in the memory it invoked.

_“The very sight of you makes my heart flutter like the wings of a butterfly within my chest.” His dad said in a high pitched, womanly voice. Sakumo sat on the couch re-enacting the scene from Icha Icha. One hand was resting on his chest as the other pulled on his long silver hair like a nervous woman. “Your voice is soft music to my ears and your touch fills my soul with desire.”_

_Kakashi giggled as Sakumo then jumped up from the couch, pulled his hair back and looked at the cushion on which he had been sitting on moments before. “My love for you is greater than you could ever imagine. I would die for you in a heartbeat, for alone, I am nothing. Come, let me show you the depths of my love.”_

_Sakumo reached a hand forward to grab hold of the couch cushion. He pulled it up and close to his chest then danced around the couch as if in the arms of another, much to the amusement of Kakashi. While the dance wasn't part of the story, it was Sakumo's way of ensuring the end of the chapter was age appropriate. He put on a show of stumbling and dropping the cushion and apologising to it before dancing with it again. Then he flopped onto the couch with the cushion still clutched to his chest and said in a strangled voice; “You are crushing me my love, crushing me!” At this point, Kakashi leapt out of his seat, climbed on top of the cushion and then jumped up and down while laughing. His dad grunted as Kakashi's jumping forced the air from his lungs until he managed to grab hold of his son's leg and pull him over to hug him tightly._

The loss hit Kakashi again and he stared, unseeing, at the book in his hand. He sat like that for long moments until a noise broke his thoughts. Someone was coming.

He got to his feet in time to see Uchiha Obito run into the clearing. The boy was rubbing his eyes, goggles pushed up onto his forehead. He stopped a few yards away, evidently unaware he was not alone. Obito sobbed and wiped at his eyes until he finally saw Kakashi. Then, his breath hitched and his face ran through a myriad of expressions from confusion to surprise. Eventually, it settled on a look of mild annoyance.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Obito asked as he wiped his eyes one last time and pulled his goggles back into place.

Kakashi ignored the question as he stood there glaring at the young Uchiha. “Why are you crying?” He asked instead, his words cold and abrupt.

“I'm not crying, something in my eye.”

“Yeah, right. Liar.”

“I am not lying!” Obito shouted as he adjusted his goggles.

Kakashi shrugged and turned away. He was not in the mood for an argument nor a conversation.

“I'm _NOT LYING_!” Obito shouted again, taking Kakashi's silence as another jibe.

Infuriated, Obito ran forward and pushed Kakashi. Unprepared and taken by surprise, Kakashi failed to catch himself. He slipped over the edge of the embankment with arms flailing and tumbled towards the rapids. Strangely, all he could think about was his book. He desperately tried to throw it out of harm’s reach, but it fell from his hands and hit the water a second before Kakashi. The freezing cold water shocked the breath from his lungs. He struggled but was swiftly dragged under. The fast moving water pulled him along and Kakashi panicked as he tried and failed to get his head above the water to breathe. He clawed at the water and thought he might die until a hand grabbed his own. He was dragged from the water and thrown on the grassy embankment. Kakashi quickly got to his feet as he coughed and spluttered. He stared towards the water as Obito stood panting beside him.

“Are you okay? I'm so sorry! I didn't think I'd pushed you that hard!”

But Kakashi did not hear him. He was staring at the water as something inside him broke.

The book, much like his mask, was an object filled with so much memory and emotion that it took on a life of its own. Now it was gone, washed away in the torrent.

And he was _furious_.

Obito was oblivious to Kakashi’s dangerous turn of mood. He continued to make apologies. But when Kakashi began to shake with rage, the young boy realized something was wrong. Perhaps it was the way Kakashi glowered at him or, more likely, it was the oppressive aura that his friend emanated. A dark, awful aura that seemed to clog the air with ominous foreboding.

“K...Kakashi? What's wrong?” Obito asked fearfully, his face paling under the terrible gaze of his friend. But Kakashi remained silent, his baleful stare so unsettling that Obito took a few steps away from him. “S...stop being an ass and answer me!” He shouted defiantly.

A split second later, Obito found himself lying on his back, warm wetness trickling from his nose. "Look what you did!" He screamed as he wiped the blood.

Kakashi growled as Obito got up and threw a badly aimed punch. He easily evaded then landed a hard kick to Obito’s back. He almost landed a second but Obito twisted and landed a punishing blow to Kakashi’s midriff. Kakashi stood there, breathing noisily as Obito wiped at his nose.

“Kakashi I-”

He ran at Obito and wrestled him to the ground. Kakashi sobbed as his hands pummelled Obito’s face and wrenched the goggles and ear protectors from his head then threw them across the clearing. They smashed into a tree and fell to the ground, broken. Obito screamed and tore at the mask covering the lower of Kakashi’s face. They struggled against each other a few moments then Kakashi kicked Obito away. But Obito did not let go and the mask tore wide open to hang in tatters around Kakashi's neck.

“No!” Kakashi screeched and grabbed the torn fabric. “That was all I had left!”

He fell to his knees, the remnants of his mask held to his face, eyes wide and filled with tears. Obito stared at Kakashi with such concern that Kakashi had to look away.

“Your book...your dad...I should have realized…” Obito whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Amidst the sadness and the anger, Kakashi wondered how Obito knew. Then he remembered the show and tell at school. They had to bring in their most favorite thing to show their classmates. Kakashi took a copy of Icha Icha, much to the shock of the teacher. He told the class why the book meant so much to him. Of course Obito would recognize the significance. Even if it was too late.

“I’m _sorry_ , Kakashi.” Obito repeated.

But fear and fury, pain and grief triggered the phenomenon Kakashi had tried so hard to recreate. Both boys yelled in terror when a blinding light fizzled and crackled in the air around them. A strangled cry tore from Kakashi’s throat as he scrambled to his feet, the light disappearing as suddenly as it appeared.

“Kakashi? What--”

He bolted and left Obito behind. Kakashi ran faster than he ever had, his mind blank with terror. He stumbled over a tree root and collided with a woody outcropping that tore a gash in his forehead. He was on his feet and moving in an instant as if nothing happened. He ran until he reached the village and his muscles burned. He sped down the main street, unseeing, unfeeling. Passed people who stared at him with shock and worry. He ignored them and their calls of concern.

His house came into view and Kakashi lowered his head. This meant he did not see the figure that walked the garden path. He slammed into a solid, muscular body and would have fallen had the person not grabbed his shoulders. He kicked out and punched at the person on instinct and only stopped when he heard a very familiar grunt of pain. He slowly raised his head to see the man standing before him. Kakashi’s stomach knotted as the man got down on his knees and raised a hand to tenderly stroke his bare face.

“Kakashi? What happened? What's wrong, son?”

Kakashi simply stared for a moment, utterly stunned and unable to believe his eyes.

“Dad?...” His voice, although a whisper, broke Kakashi’s trance and he grabbed hold of his father, nearly knocking him to the ground.

His fingers dug into and twisted the fabric of his dad's uniform sleeves. He was scared to let go in case the man disappeared. Despite the fact he ached all over, Kakashi smiled as he looked at his father’s tired face. Sakumo was filthy and smelled of sweat and blood, but Kakashi didn't care. His dad could smell of dog crap and he wouldn't mind. All that mattered was that he was alive and home. Kakashi looked on as his father’s confusion gave way to understanding and Sakumo’s face took on an expression of sorrow.

“Oh Kashi...I’m so sorry,” his dad whispered and pulled him into an embrace that Kakashi returned so hard his arms trembled with the effort.

Kakashi buried his head in father's shoulder and allowed his body to relax as his dad's strong arms lifted him and held him tightly. He sobbed quietly as Sakumo opened the door to the house and carried him inside. Kakashi was still just a child, living with all the pent up anxieties and highly erratic emotions that all children struggle to control. And while Kakashi was better than even most adults at controlling these emotions, a day such as today would be hard on even the most hardened of Shinobi.

“I missed you, Dad.” His voice was muffled by the fabric of his father's flak vest, but he had no strength to raise his head.

“I missed you, too,” came the reply and Kakashi felt his dad's arms tighten around him.

 


	12. Already Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack  
> \---  
> "Already Home"  
> Great Big World  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kz9UBfXmXsM

When the summons came, Sakumo was lounging, arms draped over the back of the couch while Kakashi read aloud from Icha Icha to practice his reading skills. It had become a daily tradition; Kakashi had long since mastered reading comprehension, but they had seen no reason to stop. It had been a relatively simple decision with little comment; Kakashi merely reached the end of the book (“…he turned the key in the lock, shutting out the cold, unfeeling world, and pinned her with a gaze hot enough to burn through the pages of history. She was his, and he would share her with no one, not ever again.”) and shut the cover. He and his father blinked, stared at the book, stared at each other… and without preamble, Kakashi merely opened to the first page and began reading again.

Just like that, unspoken, it had become a nightly custom. Sakumo was thrilled that Kakashi seemed to enjoy the Icha Icha series as much as he did, and of course, he’d never get tired of his favorite story. Besides that, Kakashi had a smooth, calming reading voice. Something about that and the work of Jiraiya the Toad Sage had created a magical barrier around their home, an aura of healing that slowly but surely whittled the edges off of their grief. 

Mid-sentence, there was a knock at the door. Sakumo and son looked up toward the source of the sound. Kakashi, the good boy that he was, wasted no time in setting down their book and striding to the door. He looked through the peephole to confirm the identity of the person on the other side. “It’s ANBU,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder at his father. It was a silent question: should I open it?

Sakumo nodded once, already dreading the visitor. It meant a higher ranking mission, no doubt, the kind fraught with danger and secrecy. He didn’t like those kind--it meant there was a chance that Kakashi would not have a father, either--but he, as an elite ninja, was included on them often. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn’t need this right now; the Academy graduation ceremony was later that afternoon. He’d hate to have to miss it.

The door opened, and the mask tilted downward to regard the likewise masked face of Kakashi. Sakumo’s son didn’t even flinch to look into the fearsome, expressionless mask. “Hatake Sakumo,” the man’s voice intoned, asking for Kakashi’s father… without really asking. Kakashi pointed, and the eyeholes of the mask settled upon Sakumo. “I’ve been directed to place this into your hands alone,” the ANBU operative declared.

Sakumo straightened his posture, abandoning the arm of the couch. It wouldn’t be proper to accept mission details while splayed out across cushions. That wouldn’t be professional. When he was seated correctly, he answered, “Yeah, come on in.”

The stealthy assassin crossed the room in a few silent, gliding strides and deposited the scroll into Sakumo’s hands. “The Hokage will be expecting you at noon,” the man concluded. “Good day, Hatake,” he finished with a nod to each of them.

“What is it, Dad?” Kakashi asked as he shut the door behind the ANBU.

“You know I can’t tell you the details, Kashi,” he reminded him as he unrolled the scroll upon his knees. He waved the boy away as he was trying to sneak a peek. “It’s a mission, though. I’m being called to the field.”

Kakashi settled back on his heels, allowing himself to be shooed away. “For when? The graduation ceremony is today. That guy said noon, right? Graduation is at 3:00.”

Sakumo continued reading, dread pooling with every word. Yes, they’d really do this to him, it seemed. Today of all days. “Yeah, he said noon, and apparently I’m leaving right after the briefing.” He smacked the rollers back together, crinkling the paper roughly, and sighed heavily. He scrubbed at his lips with his fingers, trying to find the words necessary to apologize to his son for missing the most important day of his life. Kakashi was graduating after only a year of study; certainly that was some kind of record, and Sakumo could not be more proud. Missing the graduation ceremony was anathema. It would break both of their hearts, and he honestly wasn’t sure who would be hurt worse by it.

Finally, when he felt prepared—as much as he could be—he settled his eyes on Kakashi’s, pouring as much of the regret he felt into his face as he could, hoping Kakashi could see. “Kashi, I’m sorry…” he began.

Kakashi’s eyes smiled back at him. “It’s okay, Dad. Don’t feel bad, okay? You’re Konoha’s top Shinobi. It must be an emergency, right?”

Sakumo stared at him, his heart shattering in deep, unfathomable places. Five years old, and so grown up already. It never should have happened this quickly. As proud as he was that Kakashi was graduating at five, he would much rather keep his son in school a few years longer, developing friendships, experiencing failure, feeling, at times, average… apparently fate had different plans for Hatake Kakashi. Here he was, torn up about missing his only son’s celebration of his highest achievement… Kakashi was likely as upset about it as he was, and yet, he wore a braver face than Sakumo, putting his own feelings aside to assure his father that it would be okay. He reached out with one strong arm and pulled the boy into his chest for a hug. “Yeah, but I still don’t want to go. You know I love you, Kashi, and I’m so very proud.”

Arms with more muscle than a five year old should possess arced around his neck. “I know, Dad. I love you, too.”

When was the last time he’d said that?

Sakumo tried hard to remember as he prepared what he might need for the mission. By the scant details in the scroll, he’d be gone for a month or more. He jerked sandals onto unwilling feet as he brooded; A month, a week, a year… it really didn’t matter. All that mattered was this one day. Didn’t they know that?

“How long will you be gone?” Kakashi asked from Sakumo’s bedroom doorway.

“Probably about a month,” he replied numbly, trying not to see the strong front Kakashi was putting up. Knowing that it was a front hurt him more than it might have to see Kakashi throw a fit, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Kakashi nodded. “You’re going to be gone on your birthday then, so here.” He pulled a small paper-wrapped package out from behind his back and placed it into Sakumo’s hand. “You can open it now, if you want.” He shrugged.

Sakumo stared at it, willing himself not to cry. Natsuki would have chided him for the display of emotion, and Kakashi would probably do the same. He was too much like her not to. By the parcel’s shape, it was probably a book, and only one book held any meaning between the two of them. But there wasn’t a new release, was there? Was there?!? He ripped the paper open with unfeigned excitement. Within was a plain brown book, slender and uninteresting in design, without a title. He tried not to seem too disappointed.

“Don’t look so glum, Dad,” Kakashi said brightly. “It’s an unpublished set of short stories by Jiraiya.”

“WHAAAT?!?” Sakumo exclaimed, jumping off the edge of his bed and holding it aloft like a fragile piece of artwork. “Where in the world did you get this?”

Kakashi shrugged but said nothing.

“This is the best gift I have ever received,” he whispered honestly. “Thank you.”

“Maybe it will keep you entertained on the road,” Kakashi offered with another shrug.

Right. The mission. Composing himself, he added the cherished novella to his supplies and hugged his son one more time. “I’ll let Maito Dai know—“ he stopped at Kakashi’s raised eyebrow and changed his mind. “You know what? Nevermind. You’re a ninja today. You can take care of yourself.” He smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair.

Kakashi straightened the unruly locks as soon as his father’s fingers had left them. “When I am a great and powerful Shinobi, you can’t mess up my hair,” he told his father imperiously.

It coaxed a chuckle out of Sakumo as he made his way to the front door to leave. “You’re a genin today, Hatake Kakashi.” He winked at him. “I’ve got plenty of years left to mess up your hair.” They waved at each other. Sakumo shut the door behind him as he left the house, and his smile fled completely, thinking for the umpteenth time that “Little Kashi” was growing up way too fast for comfort. “….I hope.”

When he arrived in the Hokage’s office, Fugaku and the Brothers Hanta were already there. Fugaku’s frown cut deeper into his jowls as the Brothers Hanta smiled and waved. He took his place between them and Fugaku and waited for the details of the mission. To his surprise, when Fugaku caught his eyes, his expression softened into one almost of sympathy. For someone that didn’t entertain the thought of fathering children, he seemed to get the gist of it well enough. Sakumo flashed a crooked smile in response, absorbing the details of their top secret mission with barely contained misery.

As they left the briefing, he noted the time. 12:43 p.m. In just over an hour, they’d be setting up in the schoolyard with freshly minted forehead protectors, and there’d be coffee, tea and water. He could already imagine the other parents gathering, all in pairs without dead wives, grinning broadly at their now-Shinobi children as they experienced the first day of the rest of their lives.

Was there any prouder moment in a Shinobi parent’s life? Sakumo supposed not, though he had no other children to test the theory on, and this moment was going to pass without his say so.

He stared at Fugaku’s back as they walked toward the gate of Konoha, remembering Kakashi’s mask-hidden smile—did his lips smile, too, or was that the secret of the mask?—and how tightly his arms had gripped Sakumo’s neck. I know, Dad. I love you, too. He realized he was clenching his teeth so hard that it hurt, and his fists were balled so tightly that his shoulders were beginning to ache. Somewhere ahead, Isamu and Minoru were wondering aloud at how beautiful the princess was—they were less of the goofballs they were before, but still young—and Fugaku maintained a steady, sedate pace.

Somewhere behind him, his son was standing with boys and girls nearly twice his height and twice his age, more calm and composed than any chunin, waiting for the ceremony to begin and his name to be called. He imagined Kakashi’s sensei handing over the headband, imagined that no one would be there to witness it that actually cared…

…And the wrongness of it all hit him with gale force.

* * *

 

“What do you think, Sakumo-taichou?” Isamu asked, turning toward him. But he was met with nothing but empty space. 

“Where’d he go?” Minoru wondered aloud.

Fugaku whirled around, noting their captain’s sudden absence as well. He sighed with exasperation. “Hatake,” he breathed, grumbling to himself. “You really are a pain.”

* * *

 

Hatake Sakumo was not one of the village’s brightest jounin for no reason. He flowed between tree, wall, and bush like an ace assassin, masking his presence, suppressing his own chakra, and moving as the shadows themselves. After only about thirty minutes, ANBU operatives started searching, presumably for him. He smirked to himself as he made his way to the Academy grounds, wondering belatedly if they’d think to look for him there. 

(He couldn’t have known that Fugaku had mentioned to the ANBU captain that perhaps the sudden and urgent presence of their operatives might scare the families and the newly fledged genin.)

By the time he had perched himself in one of the older trees overhanging the yard, the ceremony had already begun. He felt a pit in his stomach, thinking he might have missed it, but then the teacher called someone’s name, and they left a group that still had Kakashi standing in it. He breathed a sigh of relief. The kid whose name had been called—it wasn’t Kakashi, so he didn’t really care—gratefully accepted his headband, bowed to his sensei, and then turned to bow to the gathered parents. Then, he moved to the other side of the area, and the next name was called.

When Kakashi’s name was called, he felt an overwhelming wash of pride. He thought about shouting, “That’s my son! He’s mine, do you see? Have you ever seen a finer Shinobi?!” He decided against it, though, remembering the ANBU that were seeking him out at that very moment. Sakumo wanted Kakashi to share that moment with him, though. It was meant to be experienced together. He gathered the chakra to his feet and suspended himself from one of the main branches. When Kakashi turned toward the audience, his son froze before he bowed. 

What a sight it must have been, to see a disheveled, foolishly grinning jounin hanging from the tree and waving vigorously. The corners of his son’s eyes crinkled, and Sakumo knew that they were one soul, then.

He’d made it, and his son had seen. That was all that mattered.

Feeling lighter than he had in years, he rejoined his comrades at the gate, accompanied by no fewer than four ANBU operatives. Fugaku raised a questioning eyebrow, but all he had to say was, “A man’s got to have priorities, and they need to be the right ones.”


End file.
